


The Tale of The Three Brothers

by witlessmaester



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Potter Family, Gen, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Slytherin Harry Potter, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-10-26 15:31:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20744504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witlessmaester/pseuds/witlessmaester
Summary: James and Lily Potter died, leaving behind three sons. Edward Charlus, Henry James, and Alexander Fleamont; the Heir, the Spare, and the Boy-Who-Lived.Or, alternatively: The Potter sons take on a world determined to come in between them.





	1. Edward I: Reunions and Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome! This is my first story, first HP story as well. While I will stick to canon for most things, some things are also going to be wildly AU.
> 
> A few important things to note:
> 
> 1\. James and Lily were aged up two years, so that they could conceivably have an older child.  
2\. There is going to be a much more fleshed out wizarding world, with reasons behind certain actions, etc.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy and leave a comment behind!

There was a storm raging outside. That was the second thing he noticed. Spears of light streaked the night sky, illuminating the stars as thunder rumbled ominously. The first thing he noticed was that his brother was not in bed. Fighting back panic, he quickly stumbled out of bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he searched the dark room for the tiny figure.

Owain’s Hall was not the most terrible place to be, but the halls had turned unfriendly shortly after they arrived. It was two storey’s high, with the bedrooms on the upper floor. There were about 15 rooms, as Owain’s had been the manor home of a wealthy aristocrat before he willed it to charity. Each room had two beds, although he and Harry had shoved theirs together, a small desk with a chair, and an armoire.

Before he could search the orphanage for his missing brother, Harry stumbled into the room clutching a small toy. Edward quickly seized the child in a hug, scolding him as he willed his heart to slow down.

“Honestly, of all the stupid things you could do…”

“M’fine Ed,” Harry cut in, exasperated. “I wasn’t going to get caught!”

“_Harry!_ You know what would happen if you were found by the others.” 

Henry had been a babe when they first came, not quite a year and a half and wailing over a missing family. Edward himself had been little better, near catatonic with the memory of what happened to their parents. All it had taken was one child shoving the young boy before Edward had surged forward in a mess of limbs and uncontrolled magic. He’d kept Harry close after that, as far away as he could from the fearful stares of the staff and the often-cruel taunts of older boys.

He nudged the little boy back, and Edward softened at seeing identical green eyes peer up at him in contrition under a mop of messy black hair.

“I’m sorry,” he began, “I won’t sneak around now I’ve found Sir Llew.”

Biting back a smile at the name – _trust Harry to name a dragon Sir Lion_ – Edward ushered his brother into bed and settled in next to him. Combing his fingers through his hair, he saw the younger boy bite his lip.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Can you tell me the story again?” came a soft whisper. 

Smiling fondly, Edward wrapped an arm around him, ensuring that Sir Llew was safely tucked in the four-year olds arms as he recounted the story told to him by his uncle-cousin. 

“Once, there were three brothers journeying on a winding road at twilight. After some time, the brothers came to a deep and dangerous river that they could not cross easy, but they were strong and powerful wizards, and so they built a bridge to go across. When they were halfway across, a shadow of a hooded giant came to them.” Here, Edward lowered his voice a pitch as he watched his brother’s eyes sparkle. “_ ‘Who dares cheat me of my bounty!’_ hissed the giant figure of Death.” 

“He doesn’t say that!” insisted Harry.

“Will you let me tell the story?” he said exasperatedly. Pursing his lips, Harry gave a tight nod and Edward continued the tale. “The brothers had meant to speak, before Death congratulated them of their feat. ‘_Ask a boon of me and I shall grant it_.’ And Death waited. The oldest brother was a fighter, and he asked Death for a wand that would let him win all his battles. So Death crossed to an Elder tree and made him a wand. The second brother was a cow,” muffled giggles met this proclamation as Harry’s eyes sparkled with mirth, “and he sought power over Death itself. And so Death gave him a stone and told him that it had the power to bring back the dead.

The youngest brother was the smartest, and knowing Death would ask a heavy price, he asked for the power to move on without being followed by Death. And so Death handed over his own invisibility cloak, and stood by to let them pass.” 

The room was quiet for a moment, and Edward nearly laughed as he could feel his brother squirming. Finally, unable to keep silent, Harry begged, “Finish the story Ed!”

He peered closely at his brother, a solemn look on his face that was almost ruined by the slight twitch of his lips. “The story is too dark Harry –”

“I’m not a baby!” he said indignantly.

Chuckling, Edward ruffled the boy’s hair. “Alright, alright. Lemme see, where were we? Ah, yes. Time passed and the brothers went their separate ways. The first brother went to a pub—” 

“What’s that?”

“It’s a place where people go to sit and buy juice,” he said smartly.

“Have _you_ ever gone to the pub?”

“_Adult_ juice Harry. Now will you let me finish?” Pausing to get his assent, Edward scrunched his nose as he tried to recall the rest of the tale. Adding a rasp to his voice, the memory of Cousin Charlus’s voice carried him forward. “The first brother went to a pub where he told others about a wand more powerful than death. As he slept, a thief came to his bed and stole the wand, cutting the first brother’s throat to keep safe. And so Death took the first brother for his own.” A loud rumble of thunder rang through the sky as Harry twitched in fright.

“What happened next?” he whispered, green eyes wide and attentive. Edward said a silent prayer for his late mother’s forgiveness, as she would not be happy at what constituted as bedtime tales for her little boy.

“The second brother went to his home where he lived alone. He took the stone and turned it three times, and to his surprise it brought back the woman he wanted to marry. But she was cold and did not belong, and driven mad with grief the brother killed himself to finally join her. And so Death took the second brother for his own.”

“But the third brother was the smartest, and Death searched and searched for him. It wasn’t until the brother was old with children and grandchildren did he finally take off the cloak. Passing it down to his son and making him swear to hand it down, the youngest brother greeted Death as an old friend and went gladly.”

It was quiet for a moment, just the noise of lightly rumbling thunder outside.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared now,” he teased lightly.

“Am not,” Harry replied stubbornly. His eyes turned hard, and Edward bit back a smile at the predictable response. It was nice, he mused, when Harry acted like the child he was. Merlin only knew the boy was far too serious for his own good, although his heart ached as he thought on why that would be.

Shaking his head before his thoughts could take a dark turn, he turned and tucked the younger boy in. “Get some sleep, you know the Matron will be upset if you sleep in late again.”

Ignoring his grumbling, Edward settled in, eyes closed as his brother’s quiet breaths lulled him to sleep. “Good night Harry.”

The mumbled “G’night Ed,” was the last thing he heard for some time.

* * *

If there was one thing Edward Potter despised, it was being unceremoniously woken up from a good dream, rare as they were. That this was the second time he woke this night because of his brother only added to his irritation. Smacking the younger boys’ hand from his soldier he hissed, “What in Merlin’s name is wrong with you?”

“Edward, there are people here,” he whispered back.

It was the undercurrent of panic and use of his full name that woke him up. Harry had never referred to him by his name, not unless he was annoyed or being obnoxious, and the smaller boy had never sounded so frightened in years. That he was out of bed only alarmed him more.

“Where? How do you know and why the blo—blooming hell are you out of bed?”

“I couldn’t sleep, saw them from the window and they opened the door without a key!” He was breathless, and Edward quickly scrambled from the bed. Peering out of the window, he glimpsed a shadow moving along the wall.

“Put only the most important things in the bag,” he ordered, as he hurried to put his shoes on.

Turning to see that he had followed his instructions, Edward tucked the picture of his parents into the small threadbare satchel. Opening the door a touch and creeping down the dark hallway to the stairs at the end, he strained his ears to catch snippets of conversation.

“_…swears we’ll find them here…_”

“_…quiet fool, before we’re cau—_”

“_Muggle filth, that’s all we are surrounded by,_” the first voice said in distaste.

“_…be careful…no need to alert the mudblood lovers of…_”

Eyes widening, Edward spun quickly and ran back to their room, grabbing hold of Harry’s shoulders. Voice slightly strained, he whispered “Harry, remember when I said you had to stop climbing?” Not waiting for the nod he ploughed on, “I need you to ignore that and climb down the window. Use the vines. When you get down, run into the forest and don’t look back. I’ll come find you at the small grove near the stream.”

Seeing him open his mouth Edward pushed him toward the window and answered what he could. “I’ll be right behind you, but we can’t be seen. These people are wizards, and not the nice ones that would help us.”

Green eyes locked onto identical ones tinged with fear, and he saw Harry visibly steel himself and give a determined nod. Yanking him in for a quick hug, he dropped a kiss on unruly curls and whispered a plea, “be careful little brother.”

Cracking open the window, Edward was for once grateful that they were so scrawny. Nudging the boy forward, he ran to the door, closing it and moving the desk chair under the knob in hopes that it would deter the men looking for them. Breathing in sharply through the nose, Edward tried to ignore the memories as he threw their covers at the door and anything else they had to keep the door barricaded, feeling the angry coil of his magic respond to his panic.

_It’s fine_, he thought, _we’ll be fine and we won’t be separated this time. We can’t._

Swallowing his unease, Edward made his way to the window. Seeing that Harry was gone, and indeed he could see the little boy darting towards the forest, he wrapped the satchel around his neck and began his own descent. Lightening split the air, eerily silent and unaccompanied by rain. Glancing down, Edward was almost at the bottom when a bloodcurdling scream broke the silence.

_Harry_, he thought. Heart seizing in fear, he dropped the rest of the way and scrambled to his feet just as a hand gripped his arm. Edward recoiled in fear, magic surging uncontrollably to throw the unfamiliar man against the side of the building. Hearing muttered curses, real and imagined, he darted toward the forest hollering his brother’s name.

“HARRY!”

Panicked, he raced through the forest. Green light was flashing in his vision, and Edward threw himself to the side, narrowly evading a nasty looking curse that tore a chunk out of a tree. Swearing in Welsh as he heard a shriek of anger from somewhere behind him, he crawled through the underbrush in blind panic as he fervently prayed.

_Please, not Harry. Please let him be safe_.

It could have been a moment, but it felt like an hour as he ran and was slammed against the ground by a curse. Screwing his eyes as he let out a soft cry of pain, he felt the skin on his forehead split open.

“Well, well, little Potter,” the unknown man rasped. “Put up quite the fight didn’t you.”

Edward opened his eyes, seeing a man with watery blue eyes and wavy brown hair stare down at him. His wand was alight, and the cruel smirk on his face pulled on a jagged scar that ran from his jaw toward his left ear.

A sharp crack resounded through the air as a beam of red light hit the man standing over him. Spellfire erupted, as two others attempted to fight against the man who had just arrived.

Wasting no time, Edward scrambled to his feet, stumbling in an effort to avoid spells. Seeing movement up ahead, he nearly sagged in relief as he recognized the tiny figure of his younger brother. Darting forward to scoop the child under his arms, Edward moved them off the path of the spellfire. Feeling the younger boy lean heavily against him, he was alarmed to see blood covering the back of his blue shirt.

Whatever he planned to say was interrupted by the arrival of a man in a black cloak, hood down and holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. He had neat brown hair and an easy smile on his face, although his blue eyes were sharp and darting around the area.

Eyes narrowed, he pulled Harry closer to him, warily eyeing the new man.

“You must be Edward,” he said in Welsh.

Belatedly, Edward realized that the sound of spellfire had died down. “Who are you? What do you want from us?”

“My name is Rhys. I served your cousin Charlus, as my father did before me. It is at his request that I came looking for you.”

Blinking slightly in shock, Edward felt Harry tug on his arm, a whisper of “there’s more of them” carrying across. Looking back, he saw two more men wearing the same cloak as the one in front of them, each with some sort of emblem stitched across the front.

“We don’t have much time for questions, my friends in the Ministry can only keep this quiet for so long.”

Swallowing nervously, Edward glanced around at the men surrounding them before looking at his injured brother. “Swear it,” he ordered.

The man, Rhys, obviously understood what he meant, and Edward tensed as he pulled out his wand. “I, Rhys Fitzwilliam, swear on my magic that I am here to fulfill the orders of Charlus Octavian Potter and ensure the safety of his heirs. So mote it be.”

A quick mutter of ‘lumos’ proved the oath to be true, but Edward did not let himself relax.

“What do you want?”

“Right now, the plan is to get you somewhere safe so that a healer can see you. You are bleeding, and your little brother is covered in it. I have a portkey, but we will need to leave now. I promise to answer any questions you have as soon as a healer looks at you.”

Feeling the weight of Harry on his side, Edward agreed and stiffened as one of Rhys’s associates wrapped and arm around Harry and placed their hands on a rope.

“Sanctuary,” Rhys spoke, and a violent pull on his navel saw them whisked away to an unknown and hopefully safe location.

* * *

They had landed in a small drawing room, where they were met with a man and woman who ushered them into another room, the green room he thought they called it, with beds. There, they were poked and prodded at with wands, the two muttering between themselves as he and Harry were checked over, one of them frowning severely every once in a while. Without a word, they gathered their belongings and left the room, leaving Edward to calm his tense brother. Harry’s gaze looked hollow, appearing unfocused for all that Edward knew his brother was acutely aware of their surroundings.

Unable to do much, he merely slung an arm across his shoulders, bidding the younger boy to rest as much as he could. There would be time later to discuss what happened in the forest.

That had been several hours ago, and Edward sat in a richly furnished study across from his saviour— _captor?_ —whilst his brother slept under the influence of a potion. An oak desk separated them, small items placed neatly alongside a large folder filled with parchment. Ink and quills lay next to what he presumed was a photo frame. The room was bright, large windows to his left lightened the brown walls. A bookshelf was directly behind the desk, as high as the ceiling with neatly arranged books. Some he saw were in Welsh, others in other languages that he could only begin to guess at. There was a portrait on the next wall of an upholstered chair in a room similar to the one he sat in, and Edward had the odd feeling that there was someone missing from it. Behind him was a seating area complete with coffee table and plush rug, and on the walls were intricate tapestries of battle. One of them depicted a black-haired man with a flowing gray cloak holding a wand in one hand and a short sword in the other facing a similarly armed man with hair the colour of fire. The dark haired man’s cloak fluttered in the tapestry, and Edward caught a glimpse of an intricate coat of arms.

Edward continued to study the room they were in, studiously ignoring the man seated across him. Rhys Fitzwilliam was an unknown variable and Edward loathed the idea of someone he couldn’t predict holding their fate in his hands.

After a minute of stubborn silence, Rhys capitulated with a small twist of his mouth.

“You remind me of your cousin,” he said quietly. “Eurwyn was stubbornly insistent on not being the first to give in. You even look a bit like him.”

He snapped his gaze toward the Welshman in surprise. “Eurwyn?” he questioned.

A flash of something crossed his face, gone before Edward could understand what he had seen. The man answered his question with one of his own. “Tell me, what do you know of your family young Potter?”

Green light flashed behind his eyes at the question, but he stubbornly pushed beyond that memory. “I am the eldest son of James and Lily Potter, grandson of Fleamont Potter. I have two brothers, Henry and Alexander. I had a cousin, Charlus, the Lord Potter, but he and his family died. My brothers and I are most likely the last of our family.” He stated in an even voice.

“Disappointing,” the man responded, “but that is to be expected considering your less than ideal upbringing.”

Before Edward could retort, Rhys held up a hand to stop him, and he reluctantly swallowed his words. They were in unknown territory, and for his brother’s sake he would discover what this man wanted. Besides, he wanted to know of Rhys’s close connection with cousin Charlus.

“It is important for you to know why I am here,” he stated firmly. “For that, I have to tell you a story. You are Edward Charlus Potter, named after your cousin Charlus Octavian Potter, the last Lord Potter. Before you were born, and even after your birth, the Potter family was relatively small. Lord Charlus was an only child, and at the time of his ascension to the lordship, the only blood members of the family were himself and your grandfather Fleamont. Charlus had one son, Eurwyn, and he himself went on to have two children, Maia and Aurelius. Your grandfather would have a surprise heir, your father James. By 1970, the Potter family seemed secure,” he stated, eyes tinged with something sad. “Eurwyn was powerful, quick-witted, and politically astute, everything his parents could have wanted in an heir, especially as he would be the only child they would have.

“Despite there being a Potter heir, your father was raised with knowledge of his position as secondary heir. Of course, the birth of Eurwyn’s children firmly placed him further down the line of succession, and your grandparents took to raising your father without the expectations of an heir. Without these expectations, and as the miracle child to a couple who did not expect to ever have children, he grew up spoiled.”

Here, Rhys seemed to search for something, but Edward swallowed any anger he might have had at his father being called a spoilt child. He had vague recollections of his father and cousin Charlus’s interactions, but he knew the two men did not get along.

Satisfied with whatever he found, Rhys continued his story. “In late 1976, while visiting Diagon Alley, Eurwyn and his family were caught in an attack on the alley. Lord Charlus and Lady Dorea were devastated at the death of their son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren. In one fell swoop, the family was reduced to four members again. Your grandparents had passed a month before from dragon pox.

By this time, there was no other choice for heir except your father. James had done himself no favours with Lord and Lady Potter. He had married immediately out of school, and announced his wife’s pregnancy shortly after. His unborn child was the future of House Potter. You were born the following April, and in deference to your position as the heir’s son, you were named after the previous lord.”

A tray of tea and biscuits had appeared on the table, and Rhys handed a cup to Edward.

Hesitantly, he said, “You were close to cousin Eurwyn.”

Rhys stared at him for a long moment before he gave a short nod. “My father was Lord Charlus’s steward, so I spent much of my early life in lessons with him.”

He seemed unwilling to say more, so Edward wisely changed the subject. Head tilted slightly to the side, he frowned as he ran over what Rhys had just said. “You called me ‘the heir’s son’.” Nodding, the man placed his tea on the saucer. “Cousin Charlus always referred to me as his heir. 

“He would have, but only after he came to a decision.” Seeing Edward frown, the man sighed and rubbed two fingers on his forehead. A ring on his right hand glinted in the light as Rhys folded his arms and stared at Edward.

“Asking tough questions already. Good, that will serve you in good stead. Charlus had little choice regarding his heir. He couldn’t have children, his family had died, and your father was his only relative, despite the fact that they were second cousins once removed.”

Blinking in surprise he said, “I didn’t know we were that distantly related.”

“Your grandparents _were_ old when they had your father,” Rhys said dryly. “But that didn’t matter. Your great-grandfather was the younger brother of Lord Charlus’s great-grandfather, you descended from the closest male line, and there were no female lines more closely related.”

“Would they have named an heir from a female line?” he asked. Everything he had read about medieval society, which the wizarding world followed in some ways, seemed to suggest that male heirs were preferable.

The answer was a firm yes. “Had Eurwyn’s daughter survived, she would have been named heiress before your father. The Potter title follows the same inheritance as the Peverell’s, of which they claim female descent. But we are getting off topic. The point is, by 1977, your father was the only choice of heir, and he was…unsuitable in several ways.”

“Because of my mother?” he coldly asked. If there was one person the young boy loved unquestionably, it was Lily Evans Potter, and he would not tolerate others speaking ill of the woman who had given her life for her sons.

“In part,” the steward admitted. “A muggleborn was considered unsuitable for many purebloods, but Lord Charlus was willing to tolerate the match as James was not the heir, and your mother was intelligent. None of us could have predicted what happened. However, a large portion was your father’s unwillingness to follow the mandate of his paterfamilias. As Heir Potter, he was expected to marry following the olde ways, something that was expected of all Potter’s truthfully, but your parents married in a church ceremony.” Rhys’s disdain shone through, as much as it looked as if the man was attempting to contain himself. “Lord Charlus had to ensure that your birth was properly recorded, something your father fought him on.”

“Why would my father fight against that?” he broke in.

Calmly he answered, “Because it involved a ritual.”

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed,” he said. “Even worse, he attempted to delay your first rites, which is practically sacrilege amongst the old families, but especially amongst your bloodline.”

“How…”

“Every Potter, including your father, was given their first rites on the first Samhain after their birth. Other families have different customs, but for the Potters, it always occurred at Samhain and in a sacred grove bespelled by ancient family wards. It was here where a child was introduced to the family magicks, and given the appropriate protections.”

Pursing his lips, Edward reluctantly agreed that something like that would upset cousin Charlus. The man had spent as much time as he could with Edward, and most of his stories had revolved around the different festivals. He had been an ardent follower of the olde ways, and his heir ignoring them would have been a cause of contention.

“Do you know why my father was so against it?”

Rhys’s face contorted into a sneer as he spat out “Sirius Black.”

Breathing in sharply, Edward attempted to ignore the churning of his stomach at hearing that name again. Ignoring the memories of dark hair and gray eyes, of being passed into unknown arms, he focused instead on the steward.

“So cousin Charlus passed over my father,” he stated with only a slight quiver in his voice.

“Not immediately,” the man answered. “It wasn’t really the done thing at the time, even if James had married a mugglebo…”

“Her name was Lily,” Edward snapped out.

Lips quirked in a small smirk, the man continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “At any rate, James continued on as heir until Charlus became aware of his membership in a vigilante group headed by Albus Dumbledore.” Pausing, Edward was certain the man noticed the small twitch that name invoked as he gave him an assessing look. “Fighting against the Dark Lord was one thing, doing so at the behest of a man like Dumbledore was enough for Charlus to decide that the family assets would be better off in the hands of a child.”

“And that’s where you come in.”

“Indeed. By 1978 I was enlisted as your future steward. The war was heating up, Lady Dorea had died of illness the previous year, and there was a high possibility that Lord Charlus might die in this war. The Dark Lord killing his family had ensured that House Potter would stand against him. We prepared for the possibility of his death while you were still young, until one day your mother came seeking Lord Potter.”

“My mother,” he said flatly. “You said cousin Charlus did not care much for her.”

“And he didn’t. But your mother had given birth to your brothers and your family immediately went into hiding. Only his authority as paterfamilias and threats of disownment brought your parents back into contact with Lord Charlus. That Samhain, your mother brought the twins for their first rites. She told Lord Charlus that the Dark Lord had taken a special interest in the family, and she wanted to ensure the children’s protection should anything happen to them. I don’t know the full details of what they discussed, but it was enough to have him rewrite his Will with strict instructions regarding your care.”

Dozens of questions were floating in Edward’s head and he couldn’t settle on one. “That’s why you came looking for us.”

Inclining his head, the Potter steward’s eyes were devoid of any emotion as his words brought uncomfortable memories to the fore.

“We came to the cottage in Godric’s Hollow after we heard of your parent’s death, but neither of you were there. Three days later, in a Wizengamot session—magical government –” he stated, most likely seeing the confused look on his face, “Albus Dumbledore announced that he had safely hidden the three of you from people who would wish to harm the Boy-Who-Lived. Any attempts I made to find you were stalled as Dumbledore insisted that he had the right to place you per your parent’s wishes.”

“Did he?” Edward asked curiously. Internally, he was attempting to stifle the rage he was feeling at hearing about their placement, but he had a feeling he failed to conceal his emotions.

“I don’t know,” the man bitterly admitted. “Your mother, clever witch that she was, spoke with Lord Charlus, but there were months between that conversation and his death. I do not know if your parents had their own arrangements in place. Most likely they did, but if James spoke of it, I was not informed. Your grandfather and father’s vaults were legally claimed by Dumbledore, so I can assume he does have a leg to stand on.”

“Kidnapping…”

“I prefer to call it a rescue mission,” Rhys stated tartly. “In any case, Lord Charlus’s Will gives me the authority to take over your guardianship as heir.”

“What about my brothers?” he questioned sharply, noting the steward’s words. “I will not be separated from – ”

“Peace, Heir Potter,” he said. “The Will gives me leeway with the placement of the three of you, as while you are heir, family tradition dictates that you are all brought up as possible heirs. Considering the circumstances that left the Potter family down to three underage members, this condition is even more important.”

Nodding, Edward warily settled against his seat. Rhys Fitzwilliam had shown a considerable amount of loyalty to his family if he had spent all these years looking for them. To his credit, the man had had healers look them over, and he answered most of Edward’s questions. Despite his obvious disdain for his parent’s, he was clearly determined to follow cousin Charlus’s orders.

“What exactly did cousin Charlus ask you to do?”

Rhys was silent for a moment, seemingly gathering his bearings. “I was to find you and your brothers and bring you to safety beneath ancient family wards. The three of you would be raised as suitable heirs to the Potter family with full knowledge of all the duties and responsibilities awaiting one of your position.”

Edward mulled over what he learned in the last few hours, yet there was one thing nagging him.

“You found the two of us, have you been able to find Alexander?”

Scowling, Rhys answered in the negative. “It has proven difficult so far.”

Heart sinking, Edward thought on the happy baby he’d known. The last time he had seen Alexander, the boy had been crying in pain from the cut on his forehead. It’s been three years since, and he was uncertain of how he would be when they finally reunited.

Rhys’s voice broke through his thoughts. “—will be leaving in two days time to your new home. Tomorrow, a visit to Gringott’s will have to happen and a quick stop to get you both outfitted.”

Chin raised, Edward stared at Rhys, his green eyes glinting with determination. “Henry and I will do as cousin Charlus asked, but I expect you to do everything you can to find Alexander.”


	2. Harry I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was split into two as it was getting far too long to include everything. We'll get another chapter from Harry's POV before moving on to the third brother.

Harry was a stubborn child, or so his brother always said. Right now, Harry was more amused at their new guardian’s obvious frustration with the wall of stone that was Edward Potter. Rhys’s face was pinched as he attempted to argue his way, but Ed was nothing if not determined and there was no way he would leave him behind while they went to explore the magical world. That the older man had given in to the stubborn seven-year old was just the icing on the cake.

Which is why he now found himself inside a gold hall filled with beings – _goblins_ Rhys had called them – that were as tall as he was with a hooded robe covering his unruly hair. People walked up to tellers, goblins sitting high above them were stamping papers, some even walking across the hall with wizards and witches following.

The last thing Harry had expected when Ed told him to run into the forest was some sort of rescue attempt. Sure, he had hoped for it, but life had taught him that there was no use for hope when he would end up being disappointed.

Then Rhys had shown up on orders from long dead family members that Harry knew far too little about, and suddenly life took a turn. 

The goblin led them down a hall past a series of doors, turned left twice and then right, before knocking sharply on a wooden door with a plaque that read Potter. 

Glancing at the taller wizard dressed in plain black robes as he gestured for them to lower their hoods, Harry attempted to mimic the older mans calm. For the past few days, Rhys had always seemed calm and collected to the young boy, though there were a few instances such as his earlier conversation with Ed that proved he wasn’t entirely unflappable.

The door opened, and Rhys placed a hand on his shoulder, steering the two boys toward three chairs across from the lone goblin in the room. He was bulky beneath his clothes, black hair peppered with white, and a crooked nose. The goblin stared at the boys for a moment, beady eyes scanning the both of them and Harry nearly sighed in relief when he turned to look at Rhys.

“Lord Steward, what can Gringotts do for you today?” 

“Sharpfist,” he began, and wasn’t that an interesting name, “we are here to formally settle the Potter accounts and execute Lord Charlus’s Will.” 

Harry’s eyebrows twitched, but glancing at Ed he noticed his brother was unsurprised by the last part.

The goblin had turned once more to the brothers before his lips pulled back into a sharp grin. “Yes, they certainly look the part. We will need to confirm their identities of course.”

The goblin had pulled out a piece of parchment and a dagger, gesturing for Edward to come forward. His brother stood calmly, picking up the knife and pricking his finger as if he did this every day. Three drops of blood spilled onto the parchment and Harry watched in astonishment as it was sucked up before words were scrawled on the parchment.

Belatedly, he realized the goblin had beckoned him forward, and Harry repeated the procedure with Ed holding onto his hand to keep the knife steady. Three drops later, and the writing scrawled across the same parchment, right next to the earlier entry.

_Edward Charlus Potter Henry James Potter_

He waited to see if more words would appear, but the goblin seemed satisfied and Ed tugged him back to his seat. 

Sharpfist knocked once on the table, a hollow sound echoing back at them, before stacks of parchment and several files appeared before them. He had known he was a wizard his entire life, had seen magic performed and had bursts of accidental encounters himself, even stepped into a fireplace this morning against his better judgement, but seeing it done continuously never ceased to amaze him.

Opening the folder on top, he pulled several pages out, humming and hawing as he read whatever was written. At one point, Sharpfist raised an eyebrow, something surprising him, before he grunted and glanced at Rhys. “We will begin with the Will.” 

Once he received a nod of assent from Rhys, he cleared his throat and began reading aloud. 

“Dated 23 December, 1980. I, Charlus Octavian, Lord of the Noble House Potter, being of sound mind do hereby declare this to be my final testament. Henceforth, I name one Edward Charlus, son of James Fleamont of House Potter, as heir to all accounts, estates and titles of our bloodline and all the rights and privileges the position affords with the following exceptions. 

James Fleamont, son of Fleamont Henry, is granted all rights and privileges over the accounts left to him by Fleamont Henry and Euphemia Fenwick Potter as well as their manor home in Hereford.

In preparation for his future duties as Lord Potter, primary tutelage of Edward Charlus is in the hands of the Lord Steward for House Potter, Rhys Fitzwilliam. As scions of House Potter, the Lord Steward will provide the same tutelage for Henry James and Alexander Fleamont. 

Should James Fleamont pass before the heir reaches the age of majority, primary custody will revert to House Potter and the Lord Steward. In the event that both James Fleamont and Lily Evans Potter pass before such a time, full custodial rights of all children from their union is granted to the Lord Steward and any deviances from the wishes of the parents are done with full backing as paterfamilias.

A trust fund is to be established for Henry James and Alexander Fleamont in accordance with their position as scions of House Potter, with access to the key given over to the Lord Steward. 

The portfolios for second and third sons of House Potter are to be re-established and expanded with permission from the heir, with full execution to occur when the scions reach their majority. 

As the Lord Steward, Rhys Fitzwilliam is granted full proxy rights in matters financial, legal, and political. 

Should the Lord Steward pass before fulfilling his duties, the position and proxies will pass to the next steward in rota, as confirmed by the presence of the Steward’s ring. 

All aforesaid decisions are final and binding, may Magic tear asunder those who seek to ignore it. So mote it be.” 

The room was silent for several moments. Harry tried to wrap his head around what he heard, but most of it was too difficult for the four-year old to understand. Finally, Sharpfist broke the silence with a question. “Heir Potter, while we wait for the heir ring would you like to view the portfolios for younger sons of House Potter?” 

A look from Rhys had Edward shaking his head with a firm, “Not at this time Sharpfist. For now, I would like to confirm our guardianship with the Lord Steward.” 

Shuffling the papers, Sharpfist pulled forward another file before handing it to Rhys. “You will find all of the appropriate documents in place Lord Steward. Merely sign and Gringotts will ensure that everything is correctly filed.” 

He handed Rhys what looked like a fancy pen, and Harry watched as the steward signed several pages before noticing something red appear on the back of his hand. 

“You’re bleeding!” he exclaimed. 

The steward nodded as he continued to sign.

“Why are you bleeding?” 

Glancing at him from the corner of his eye he said, “In legal documents such as this, where a steward takes control of a noble house for some time, they have to be signed in blood to be binding.” 

Blanching at the thought of all those papers containing Rhys’s blood he asked, “Is there a reason it has to be done in blood?”

Sharpfist answered this time. “Blood magic is more binding than most, and the consequences of breaking a blood sworn oath are more…damaging.” The goblin gave a toothy smile. 

“Right,” he muttered. 

It took less than a minute for Rhys to complete the forms, and there was a slight golden glow once done. Blinking, he looked at Sharpfist as he opened a small box, about the size of Harry’s fist, and turned it to Ed. Leaning forward, he saw that it held a chunky ring, gold with a crest of some sort engraved in a dark colour over a gray centre. _Red_, his mind supplied, seeing the colour more fully when the light hit it, although it looked darker than he had expected. 

“Place the ring on the forefinger of your left hand,” Rhys instructed. Amazed, Harry watched as the ring shrunk slightly to fit Ed’s finger. 

“Yes, well done.” The goblin said. Placing four folders in front of Rhys and Ed, he pointed to the one furthest from Harry. “This file contains a summary of the Potter assets as of this past month. The next report on the assets will be sent out at the end of the next quarter.” Seeing two nods, he pointed to the one next to it. “This is a detailed listing on all Potter investments since Lord Charlus’s death. Any changes to those can be made in person at a later date. Next, we have a listing of all Potter properties business, rental and personal that Gringotts is aware of, with a listing of incomes separated by month and year.” 

Harry chanced a quick glance at his brother, seeing a small crinkle in his brows that showed that he was paying close attention, before mimicking the older boy and focusing on the words the goblin was saying. 

Pointing at the file closest to Harry he said, “Finally, this is a detailed listing of all vaults held by Gringotts for House Potter, separated by vault type and a full count of each individual object within. Monetary vaults are separated by galleons, sickles and knuts, jewellery by gem type and pieces, and the small armour vault by weapon type.”

Harry was slightly overwhelmed by what Sharpfist was saying, but if the goblin was telling the truth then there were a lot of things that belonged to their family. 

“These folders are yours, Heir Potter. You may book an appointment at a later date to discuss them. If that is all?”

Clearing his throat, Edward began haltingly, “Sharpfist, if-if we could, that is, I mean to say…as the Lord Steward holds guardianship, may we enquire as to whether Gringotts is aware of whom my brother Alexander currently resides with?” 

Sharpfist gazed at Edward, face impassive before answering “No.”

“Is there no record of guardianship on file?” Rhys asked. 

“Gringotts is unable to provide any such documents without the appropriate authorization.”

“I see,” Rhys said, although Harry was terribly confused. The steward picked up the first file and went through it before looking at Sharpfist with a dark look on his face. “There is no record of the vaults belonging to Heir Potter’s parents.” 

“Indeed.” 

“And how,” the steward drawled, “could such an oversight occur?”

Teeth bared in a somewhat bloodthirsty grin the goblin leaned forward, dark eyes fixed firmly on Rhys’s face. “There was no oversight. Gringotts is unable to provide any further clarification without the appropriate authorization.” 

“I see.”

Harry didn’t see, but looking at Ed he thought his brother understood the conversation far better than he had.

“Is there anything else Gringotts can provide Heir Potter? Lord Steward?”

Harry quickly jumped to his feet as Rhys and Edward stood. “Not at this time, Sharpfist, may your gold overflow and your bounty remain plenty.” He said with a slight bow of his head. Harry hastened to follow, jerking his head down in an approximation of a bow and murmuring his thanks.

“And may your enemies tremble before your might.”

Steering them toward the door, Harry and Ed lifted the hoods on their cloak at a gesture from Rhys before making their way into the alley proper for lunch and a visit to Twilfitt and Tatting’s.

* * *

Twilfitt and Tatting’s turned out to be a clothing store. Or at least, that was how he saw it. Harry was pretty certain the seamstress would be scandalized if she heard his thoughts. The place was large, racks of fabric lining the exposed brick walls with several tailored cloaks hanging in the air, _by magic_ he thought, to showcase different styles. The floors were lined with dark wood, a seating area further in. It was there that Rhys led them; past the sofas they saw from the front to a secluded corner barricaded by a wall with three doors. Opening the door to the right, they saw another seating area, one slightly more refined than the original. The dark wood floors gleamed in this section, the walls made of a pale red stone with empty light sconces at intervals. He didn’t think wizards had need for them until he saw the ones at Rhys’s home light up with magic in the evening. When asked, the man had simply smiled and said they were rune powered and he would learn more when he was older. Harry had barely held in a scowl, as most answers to his questions about magic seemed to involve the addendum that he would learn more in time. Thankfully, Edward was less inclined to shelter Harry from things he might have been too young to know about and was more than willing to indulge the younger boy’s sometimes-unending questions, sharing anything useful he had learned in the day the Lord Steward had spent with him, something he adored about his brother. 

The seating area held two black leather sofas and an armchair surrounding a low wooden table on a tan rug. The seats were facing two stepping stools, and Harry had the distinctly uncomfortable thought that they were going to be playing dress up as Rhys sipped his tea. 

Sharing a sofa, the two brothers watched as Rhys calmly ordered tea and scones, and a juice for Harry, sitting quietly as they waited for the seamstress. Barely lifting his cup for a sip of juice, _and the wizards were odd_ he thought_ drinking pumpkin as juice over apple_, a man in crisply tailored black trousers and buttoned black shirt entered. He was older than Rhys, blond hair slicked back with a wide streak of black running from his left temple to the back of his head. His eyes were blue, cool and assessing as he looked at the two dark-haired boys sitting on the sofa. Turning to Rhys the man smiled, the corners of his mouth crinkling in the practiced way of one who smiled often. 

“Lord Fitzwilliam, these are my clients for the day?” he asked, voice light and scratchy. 

Mirroring the man’s smile, Rhys gestured for the two of them to stand. “Master Tatting, might I introduce my charges Edward and Henry.”

Looking at the tailor, Edward gave a slight nod and a murmured hello, Harry hastening to follow with a stiff jerk of his head. The steward had prepared them for this beforehand, or at least, he had warned Edward. Not many in the wizarding world recalled the names of the Potter Heir and spare, and they were lucky to look less like their father. Ed had told him that photos of their parents had been plastered across the papers after their deaths, and most people would be expecting children who looked like James with Lily’s distinctive eyes. Instead, he and Ed supposedly favoured their father’s family instead of their father, whatever that meant, with the distinctly unruly hair giving the only indication of their obvious heritage. Rhys had assured them that the goblins cared not for wizarding affairs, and the tailor would keep their identities secret. 

The man gestured for them to step on the stools, and sparing a short glance at Rhys Harry shrugged off his robe and turned sharply on his heel following Ed. Standing in his borrowed trousers and shirt, he barely kept from fidgeting as the older man walked around them, an assistant having quietly entered as Harry noticed a brunette following behind him with a quill and parchment. 

“A full wardrobe?”

“Not quite,” Rhys answered. “We will probably be back at some point, but they will need all of the essentials. Undergarments for both boys, as well as trousers and shirts.” 

“Yes, yes,” the tailor muttered. Waving his wand, a measuring tape appeared in front of Harry, wrapping itself around him as the young woman recorded whatever it showed her. He barely kept himself from flinching when the tape wrapped around his waist, and again appeared to measure the length of his face. Staring in bewilderment, he looked at Ed only to see the same thing occurring, although his brother seemed far more at ease. 

“Three black robes each, two each in a dark gray and navy,” Master Tatting stated, the young woman scrambling to follow his words. Scrutinizing the two he hummed before waving his wand in a wide arc, a swathe of green fabric settling on his shoulders. A wrinkle of his brow was followed by a sharp jab of his wand, the fabric darkening in colour until it resembled the forests he had grown up around. “One robe each in a deep green with sil…no, bronze piping. Maroon as well, black piping for those. Formal robes? Don’t forget to add room to grow,” he told his assistant. 

“Not for the younger one. A small ensemble will be suitable for the elder child.” Rhys responded.

“A full set?” 

Pausing, the steward nodded slowly, “A set in black for each child, actually, black trousers, white tunic with a gray and silver chequered cravat, and a black surcoat. We will need the Potter crest embroidered on the left breast of each.”

There seemed to be no sign of surprise on Master Tatting’s face, although his assistant had frozen momentarily, brown eyes darting to Harry’s forehead. Harry could see surprise and confusion in her gaze as she stared at him, before flushing lightly and averting her eyes back to her parchment. Frowning, Harry tried to think of why she would stare at his forehead. She seemed to have been looking for something, which was distinctly odd, but he resolved to ask Ed about it tonight.

The tailor waved his wand once more, settling a black fabric over their shoulders. This one was slightly heavier than the robes, a bit thicker although the material felt much softer to Harry. Wand twirling, the fabric danced to Master Tatting’s unspoken commands, shrinking until it reached just below his knees, tightening at the shoulders and chest and pulling in slightly at the hips. The lapel lengthened slightly, before a shake of the head had it shrinking and moulding into a circular neck. 

Frowning, the tailor glanced at Ed’s robe, fixing the length of his lapel before he nodded in satisfaction. “Don’t forget to add six pairs of trousers to their order; two each in black and gray, one in tan and the last in navy. Collared shirts as well, two each in white, one of each in black, brown, gray, green, navy. Hmm, perhaps a shirt each in maroon, no burgundy will be better.” Glancing at Rhys he asked, “What other formal attire is required?” 

The steward spoke as Master Tatting reached over to shift Ed’s robe on his shoulders before waving his wand to make adjustments. “Formal trousers in charcoal gray for the eldest, an ivory tunic with an ash gray cravat. Silver sleeveless surcoat with purple piping and a purple over robe.” 

Staring at Rhys with pursed lips, Harry thought that the tailor was trying to make sense of something. The only thing Rhys had stated was the colours. They seemed to mean something, though he couldn’t tell if it had anything to do with their family as all things currently did. 

With a nod, Master Tatting waved his wand to return Harry’s robes to a rack in the corner, motioning for the younger boy to return to the sofas. Heaving a sigh of relief, Harry made his way and picked up his robes before veering over to the seat next to Rhys. 

Smirking slightly, the man continued to sip his tea as they watched Edward continue his fitting. Frowning, Harry glanced at the assistant before deciding to wait to ask that question. “Do the colours mean anything?” 

Placing his cup down, the steward angled his body to look at Harry. “Black formal robes are typical wear for events that do not require a full ensemble.”

Scowling, Harry eyed the steward in consternation. He was dancing around the question, and as annoying as Harry found it, the man must have had a purpose. _Or he was being purposefully annoying_, he thought darkly. “Ed’s ring,” he began quietly, “had red and gray.” 

“Mahogany,” Rhys corrected. Eyeing him appraisingly, the steward had a small smile on his face.

Jutting his chin out slightly, Harry calmly looked at the older man. He refused to be treated like a child, promptly ignoring the voice in his head that reminded him that he was only four – _four and a quarter thank you very much_ – and said, “The Potter colours are gray and maha-mahogany?” His lips twitched in frustration, barely refraining from pouting as he eagerly awaited the day when he no longer had this childish lisp.

“They are.” 

“Who picked them?”

Glancing over at where Master Tatting was prodding at Ed, Rhys replied with a tone that Harry was quickly coming to associate with his lordly voice. “Hardwin Potter, your ancestor, chose mahogany as his colour when the Potter family was first ennobled. When he married, he took the ash gray from his wife’s family colours, signifying the joining of the two lines.” 

Scrunching up his face at the thought he asked, “Why did he add his wife’s colours? Does everyone add something when they marry?” 

“No,” he answered. “Hardwin was the first Lord Potter, and so had to choose the colours of his house as the eldest son. His wife was from an ancient family that was reduced to three daughters, and so to mark the knowledge that all future scions of House Potter would be descended from the eldest known female line of that family, he adopted the colour.”

Looking at the steward, Harry thought that the man had to find some amusement from every question he asked him, or why else would he leave the important parts out? “What house was his wife from? What was her name?”

“She was Iolanthe of the House of Peverell.”

“Why do you do that?” he asked next. Seeing the steward raise his eyebrows he elaborated, “You called our family House Potter, but refer to Iolanthe as being from the House of Peverell. What’s the difference?” 

Smiling slightly the steward answered, “That will be a question for another day little raven.” Standing, Rhys walked off to speak to the Master Tatting, his assistant off in the corner gathering materials and other things. Ed settled on the seat next to him, robes back on as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“Alright Harry?” 

“Fine,” he responded. “What’s left?”

Chuckling, his brother mussed his hair as he teased, “Eager to get home are you?” Seeing the scowl he sent his way at ruining his hair, Ed smiled before adding, “Nothing else here. We’re headed back to Rhys’s home for a late dinner as soon as he gets whatever he needs.” 

Just then the steward turned their way, motioning for them to rise. 

“I shall send the remaining items by owl to your residence Lord Fitzwilliam.” 

“Thank you, Master Tatting.”

Smiling slightly at the tailor, Harry and Edward gave a slight bow of the neck, echoing their thanks. 

“Good day to you, Scions Potter,” Master Tatting said as they exited, a bag in Rhys’s arms with a set of clothes for each of them.

* * *

Dinner had been a quiet affair. There was a sense of urgency in the air, something unacknowledged until they had finished their food. Time had crawled as he ate the porridge, his stomach unused to the rich foods the steward consumed, which had the man muttering constantly about underweight heirs and filthy caretakers. Platters of fruits and cheese were on the table, alongside a cut of steak for Rhys and assorted vegetables that the boys attempted to eat. 

Finishing their meal, the steward had led them to his solar, which was a floor above the kitchen. Seated next to Ed, Harry thought excitedly about what was coming. The goblins had said a lot of things, many of which he thought were important, and Ed certainly seemed to think so.

Settling against his armchair, the steward seemed to wait for Edward to say something. While the older boy had explained what they spoke of the other day, this would be the first time he would hear important matters discussed since they arrived. This was his first time in the Lord Steward’s study, and Harry twitched a bit as the portrait on the wall suddenly filled with a _walking human_. The man looked a bit like Rhys, same sharp nose and wide jaw. _The portraits move,_ he thought, astonished. Distantly, Harry wondered when he would ever become used to the continued presence of magic, and silently hoped he never would. 

Finally, Edward decided to break the silence. “My parent’s vaults are not included in the portfolio.” 

Calmly, the steward nodded, seemingly waiting for Edward to finish his thoughts. 

Pursing his lips, Ed’s ear twitched as his brows furrowed. “They were given over to my father,” he said slowly, “and not a part of the estate anymore.”

“They were,” Rhys said. 

Frowning, he answered, “They must have willed it to someone. Or at least given someone control until we came of age.”

Leaning forward, Edward wondered aloud, “Does the person in control of the vault have Alexander?” 

The room was silent, and he noticed the shifting man in the portrait had a look of approval on his face as he looked at Ed. That was the important question wasn’t it? As far back as he could remember, Ed had always told him stories about their family. Even when the older boy had seemed sad or angry over whatever happened the night their parents had died, Edward had made sure that he knew where they came from. Most of his stories had included another little boy, black of hair with the same green eyes as the two of them and a dimple on his left cheek opposite his own, born several minutes after Harry himself came screaming into the world.

Alexander had always been an abstract concept for him. His parents, dead as they were, had seemed far more real, brought to life in the one photo Ed managed to bring with him to the orphanage. Al was an entirely different matter. Harry liked to imagine another boy, around the same height as him with many similar features. Ed swore that they weren’t identical twins, promising that he had been able to easily tell them apart as children, but in his deepest thoughts Harry longed for a brother whose similarity to him could not be denied, forever binding the three rather noticeably as brothers. 

“Most likely,” Rhys stated. “Alexander being placed by Dumbledore points to his being in control of the vault. Why do you think the goblins were silent on the matter?”

“If he has control,” the boy started, brows furrowed, “than they wouldn’t be able to discuss it without his permission?” 

Nodding, Rhys looked at Harry and asked, “What do you think, lad?”

Startled, Harry had not expected to be questioned by the steward. “Aren’t you our guardian?” he asked curiously. Seeing the steward nod he continued, “Shouldn’t Al be with you then?” 

Smiling, Edward answered instead. “He should! Cousin Charlus’s Will said that you were to have full rights over us, even if our parents wanted otherwise.”

“Indeed. The only issue now would be finding out where he could possibly have put Alexander.” 

Frowning, Harry saw a similar look on Ed’s face as they faced another issue. Knowing that they would be able to keep Alexander with them without issue was wonderful, but they did not even know where he was. _And what if he liked his guardians?_ He thought. Of course, Harry tried to ignore that thought, as much as he felt a twinge of unease at the possibility. Al was _their_ brother, he should live with _them_ together as a family. He didn’t know what he would do if the younger boy wanted to stay with his current guardians. 

“Wizarding families would have mentioned having Alexander with them, unless sworn to secrecy by Dumbledore.”

“What about mug…non-magicals?” Harry asked.

Seeing Ed and Rhys look at him in surprise, he barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He was four, not _stupid_. “They left us at an orphanage. What if someone put Al with other non-magical people?” 

Rhys looked at the younger boy thoughtfully, a small flush creeping up Harry’s cheeks as Ed smiled proudly at him. “It’s possible,” he allowed. “Let the world believe he is living with you in a magical home but place him with muggles. Who would he trust?”

Personally, Harry thought that if this Dumbledore fellow was the one who placed them in the orphanage, than they probably shouldn’t expect anything good from someplace he trusted. Or he simply did not care about him and Ed, which placed him high up on the list of people he severely disliked, second only to the man who had killed their parents. There was something about Alexander, something important that neither Ed nor Rhys had seen fit to tell him. Something that made this man place Alexander in a separate place, keeping magical twins away from each other, keeping him away from family. Just the thought of Al experiencing the same pangs of loss that Harry felt more deeply on his birthday had his magic surging in anger.

A quick shout of his name pulled his attention back to the other two, and Harry sheepishly recalled his magic, muttering his apologies as he scowled darkly at the window.

“Don’t apologize,” Rhys said. “You are young, magical accidents are expected. Celebrated even for one as young as yourself.” 

He was smiling, which was odd, so Harry bit his tongue to keep from mentioning the regularity of his magical incidents.

Feeling Ed wrap an arm around his shoulder, the older boy leaned in whispering, “What were you thinking of?” 

“Al,” he said sullenly. “He’s supposed to be with us, with family.” 

Harry felt Edward’s body stiffen, and looking up in confusion he saw his green eyes gleam in excitement. “Family!” he crowed. 

Looking at Rhys, Harry saw a look of confusion on his face. Noticing the look, Edward huffed in frustration. “Mum has a sister. She’s not a witch. What if he put Al with her?”

Eyebrows arched in surprise, Harry thought on the new information. He hadn’t known he had an aunt. Ed had never mentioned her before. 

“You never told me that!” he accused.

Rolling his eyes he said, “You didn’t miss out on much. I’ve never met her, but she did send an ugly gift once that you and Al broke.” 

“What is her name?” Rhys interjected. “We never knew your mother had other family.”

“Don’t you guys check that sort of stuff?” Ed asked in surprise.

“It wasn’t a priority,” the steward answered dryly. 

“I don’t know her real name, but mum always called her Tuney.”

Nose crinkled, Harry noticed a small grimace on Rhys’s face. “Tuney Evans,” he said. “At least it’s something.”

Smiling, he felt the slightest bit of excitement. They had a name, someone who might have Alexander or have information on him. Harry tried to squash the hope bubbling in his chest at the thought of being reunited with his twin, but it was difficult. Three years since they had been separated and it felt like he would finally come home. 

“It’s getting late” Rhys said. “I don’t want to keep the two of you awake so late. Now that we’ve gotten confirmation of guardianship, we can move you into the family estate. Tomorrow after breakfast we will head out. It will be a short journey from here, a quick apparition to the ward line.” 

“Will we be able to cross?” Ed asked worriedly.

“All those of your blood are able to cross the wards, unless they have been specifically barred. Even that is a very rare occurrence. As the Lord Steward, I was also given access as all members of my family have before me.”

Cocking his head to the side, Harry thought back to their earlier conversation. “Master Tatting called you Lord Fitzwilliam.” 

“Yes.” 

Holding in a sigh Harry asked, “Why would he call you that?” 

Rhys’s lips twitched slightly as he said, “As the eldest male in the main line, I hold the title for the Noble House Fitzwilliam.”

“You said House Potter was a noble house.” He continued. “Why would a noble house have a steward from another noble house?”

Smirking, the man leaned forward in his seat, something like mischief flashing through his eyes. “That,” he drawled, “is not for me to say. Tomorrow, young Potter, your questions will be answered.”

Grumbling internally about annoying stewards with a penchant for not delaying answers, he allowed the man to shoo them off to bed. For now, he and Ed were sharing a room, something the older boy had insisted on as they were in an unfamiliar place. Tomorrow would be much of the same, the steward moving them to another unfamiliar home although this time, it would be something that belonged to their family.

Clambering into bed after changing into his nightclothes, Harry mumbled a quick “g’night” to Ed before the long day caught up to him, falling asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.


	3. Harry II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Noble House Potter holds many secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a life of its own and had to be cut down as a result. Enjoy!

The morning dawned bright, or at least as bright as could be expected for mid-November. He woke early, excited nerves causing him to be unable to return to sleep, although he woke only slightly before his brother. He could see that Ed was nervous as well. For all that the older boy liked to look unflappable, the twitching fingers gave him away.

They had dressed in record time, putting on the clothes Master Tatting had given them yesterday. He pulled his boots on, barely managing to yank his new robes on with Ed’s help before they were rushing quickly to breakfast where they met the amused stare of Rhys.

“Young heirs shouldn’t rush about,” the man teased as he watched them sit and eat their food as quickly as they could without making a mess of things. In the two days they had known him, he had softened the slightest bit. Where his eyes had been cold and assessing when they first met, something had changed, allowing the man to show a friendlier demeanour. Cynically, he wondered how long that would last.

Rhys Fitzwilliam was not a _bad_ person per se. But Harry did not know him. There were a number of people he did not know who seemed far too invested in their lives. Edward had mentioned how they had ended up at Owain’s Hall of all places, and the young boy had lived with the knowledge that someone willingly took their brother from them. Someone who was not family had split them up. Judging by their conversation with the goblins, that person was allowed to do that. He didn’t know which was worse: that someone had the gall to separate their family, or that they had been given permission to do what they wanted. Rhys was different, or at least he appeared to be different. Harry did not want to think on what could possibly go wrong, but so far the man had sworn to be working on behalf of their family.

_Edward trusts him_, he reminded himself. That was good enough for Harry. Edward did not trust anyone. Not easily, and especially not when it came to Harry. That would have to be enough.

Once finished with breakfast, they waited for Rhys to get his cloak. The excitement was palpable. It had been years since Edward had been in contact with anything to do with their family. Even now, Harry could see his brother stroking the ring on his left hand. Harry had no memories of his family save an eerie flash of green light from his nightmares. Only the stories Ed had shared with him, painful as they were for the older boy to think on. That he would be seeing someplace his family called home was exciting.

It felt agonizing waiting for Rhys to return, but the man made an appearance with a black cloak on. Ushering the boys out of the house he informed them of their travel plans as they walked down the drive. Rhys’s home was large, about twice the size of the orphanage. They had been confined to one section of the red-bricked manor, and Harry spared a quick glance back as they moved toward the gates.

“The place we are going to is in north west Wales. It’s secluded from muggles and has forests surrounding a large portion of it.”

Crossing the gates, the steward gripped their shoulders, warning them to not flinch from the discomfort.

Discomfort was putting it mild. Harry felt as if he was shrunk into a straw and stuffed headlong into a too tight tube. The journey was as long as it was short, and blessedly it was over quickly. Stumbling, he leaned into Rhys’s legs, head spinning as he desperately tried to keep his food from coming out. He felt the man pat his back, soothingly whispering that they were here and it was over.

“I never want to travel like that,” he groaned.

Chuckling, the older man pushed them forward. “It gets better the more you do it. It’s much better when you can do it yourself.”

Straightening, Harry saw that they were in a small clearing in a forest. Shuddering as the memory of the last encounter he had in a forest played in his head, he shuffled closer to Rhys and looked up questioningly at the man.

“Where are we?” Edward asked.

“Hang on a tic,” the man said. Walking forward, the boys followed him for a few metres, weaving in and around the forest, thick trunks all he could see under the swaying canopy above, until Harry felt a distinctly powerful tingle.

Curiously he asked, “What was that?”

“That was the outer ward. Only those who have been granted entrance can feel them.”

Continuing for a bit more, Harry felt as if he had done all the walking he could do. At some point, Ed had come to his other side and held his hand, the left one in Rhys’s grip. They came to another clearing, although this one had what looked like a circle of rocks on the ground.

“You won’t be able to see it until you present yourselves to the inner wards.” Rhys said.

Motioning them forward, Harry and Ed walked up to the centre of the circle, where a stone slab was carved with an elaborate crest. There was a winged animal of some sort in the centre, skeletal with its wings expanded. There was a crown of bones on its skull and a sword and wand crossed on its body. Engraved beneath the animal were the words _In Morte, Est In Vita_, carved into a banner.

Looking at Rhys, the two boys stared silently as they did not know what was expected of them.

“Place your hand on the thestral’s chest, say your first and middle name and the words underneath.”

Motioning for Ed to go first, Harry saw him take a deep breath before he placed his hand on the thestral.

“Edward Charlus, in morte, est in vita!”

A shiver passed through him as he felt a tingle of magic stronger than the first wards they passed. Ed’s mouth had dropped open, the older boy openly gaping at whatever it was that he saw. Hurrying forward, Harry gave him a light shove as he took his turn placing his palm on the crest.

“Henry James, in morte, est in vita!” He intoned. Something sharp pricked his hand, the odd sensation of blood on his palms before a sudden surge of magic, it could only _be_ magic, flowed through him. He was unaware of how long it held him, his own magic rushing forward joyfully to meet it. It was vast, endless the way he assumed the sky seemed endless, and something cool and distinctly ancient surrounded him. He felt it, more than he felt even the breeze in the air, captivating him, tinged as it was with pride and triumph, longing and grief, determination and a ruthless sense of belonging. It felt familiar, warmth suffusing him as a feeling of rightness and welcome, a feeling of home surged through him.

_This is mine_, he thought fiercely. _Mine and Edward’s and Alexander’s._

Opening his eyes, Harry promptly felt his mouth drop open in surprise. The forest in front had disappeared, replaced with an open plain. They were standing near the top of a hill, able to see houses in the distance. Cobbled stone lined the road in front, pale and gray, different from the dirt tracks they had followed to get to the clearing.

“Bloody hell,” he heard Ed breathe.

Harry quite agreed. Houses and buildings adorned the area as far as the eye could see, some large, others small; tall houses, homes built more wide than tall, shops, as many things as Harry recognized and many others that he did not. Some were higher up than the hill they were currently standing on. Others seemed to be built into the mountain bordering the forest on the right side. In the distance rose a great castle, gleaming dark stones visible even from where they were standing. It seemed to be at the furthest point from where they were standing, right up against the water with the mountainous land to the right providing natural defenses for the castle.

“Where are we?” he breathed.

Laughing, the steward turned to the two stunned boys and gave them an exaggerated bow. “Welcome, my lords, to Llew’s Falls.”

“Lion’s Falls?” he said disbelievingly.

Shrugging, the steward turned to them with an easy smile on his face. It made him look years younger. “The cliffs supposedly look like a lion’s head from the sea, but the original name was Mortis Cliffs, far too grim even for this lot.”

Harry didn’t know what the word mortis meant, but he figured it had to be something that scared the people if it was too grim for a place that had a crown of bones associated with it.

“That” Rhys continued, pointing at the castle towering over the town “is where we are headed.”

The castle itself was massive. Wide and sprawling, it looked as if it took up as much space as the town itself. There were pillars adorning the front, arches visible from a distance. They met at the second level, where a slab of stone created a covering. He couldn’t clearly see any windows, but he assumed the multiple pinpricks represented them. There were four towers that he could see, two at each corner, thick and round with a roof that looked like a chess rook. In the centre were the other two towers connected by a bridge of some sort. Peering closely, he could just make out the shape of two other towers behind the two in the centre.

There was a low curtained wall in front and extending around the length of the castle, coming together at a pair of gates. The gates themselves looked to be far from the castle, and a large expanse of grass separated the town even further from the castle.

Having let them gape at the town for as long as they did, Rhys gripped their shoulders once more. “You can walk around another time, yo- boys. For now, we really need to get inside.”

A sharp turn of his heel had Harry once more holding in his food. They had landed inside the castle, in a grand entrance hall made of gleaming charcoal coloured floors, and he was assaulted by the same feelings of cold triumph. If he looked down, Harry could see his reflection. Etched lovingly on the floor in front of them was the crest they had seen outside. The thestral was purple, the sword and wand a silver colour and what he thought was a banner turned out to be a black snake shaped like a banner holding the words, silver eyes and the bared fangs visible where he had not noticed it in the stone. It was large, taking up a majority of the floor space until the silvery gray crown of bones on the thestral’s head nearly reached the grand staircase. It was wide and flowed up the centre of the room, purple carpet covering the stone, before splitting in two directions, meeting again at a balcony a level above them. The ceiling in the entryway was massive, higher than anything Harry had seen, including Gringotts.

The pale walls had tapestries closest to the doors, depicting scenes of wizards in battle, some even riding thestrals! Further in were empty portraits, though Harry thought they normally held people. To their right and left, between tapestries and portraits, was a pair of wide double doors, dark wood stark against the light gray of the walls.

Without waiting for them Rhys walked briskly to the grand staircase, bypassing it to an unnoticeable door to the left. Following after him, Harry noticed that the door led to a long hall, large windows on the right showing a garden of some sort. Different flowers bloomed, all sorts of colours and types Harry was certain he would never be able to name carefully planted in between paved walkways. More tapestries lined the wall on the left, these ones depicting scenes of nature, which bored the child a bit. _He had seen a wizard riding a flying animal!_ He thought in excitement. A thestral, Rhys had called it. Harry wanted to ask a million and one questions, but most importantly he wanted to know if there was a thestral he could ride.

Blinking in surprise, the young boy realized that while he had been daydreaming of riding a thestral into battle, Rhys had led them to what looked like a sitting room. The steward did not enter, instead closing the door behind them with a quick “They are waiting for you.”

The silence was the first thing he noticed, abrupt as it was, and Harry was on edge at the thought of meeting unknown people. _Did he mention this and I didn’t hear?_ He wondered.

The walls in this room were similar to the sky on a clear sunny day. Dark blue sofas faced a wall holding several portraits, all of which where currently occupied. Four different faces stared back, although Harry saw more people crowded into the other three portraits lining the walls, some attempting to hide, others shamelessly staring.

A choked exclamation of “Cousin Charlus!” had him turning back to the four Edward seemed content to stare at in disbelief. Looking closely, he could see two men and two women staring back at them. The woman on the left had curly black hair and heavy-lidded grey eyes, giving her a look of disinterest. Her face was blank, similar to Rhys’s when he’d been dealing with the goblins. The person Edward addressed was next to her. _Cousin Charlus_, he reminded himself. Charlus had the same unruly curls that they did, hair peppered with grey. His eyes were blue, the dark colour a shade lighter than the chairs in the room, and there was a slight hint of muted warmth as he gazed down at Ed. Next to him was another man who had to be related to him. The man looked as alike to Charlus as Harry and Ed did. His hair was exactly like Charlus’s, right down to the tinkling of grey. His eyebrows were the exact same, the jaws angled similarly. This man had a wide grin on his face as he looked down at them, hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. The final portrait held the other woman. Her brown hair tumbled down her back, eyes soft as they looked at them, lips curved into a familiar smile. _She smiles like Ed_, he thought.

“Edward,” Cousin Charlus greeted. His voice was deep with a gravelly undertone Harry found oddly soothing. “It has been some time child.”

Before Ed could respond, or Charlus continue speaking, a loud voice called out impatiently from one of the other portraits. “Aren’t there supposed to be three of them?”

“Where is the other child?” someone demanded.

“Had you waited we would have gotten to that!” snapped the woman with grey eyes.

_How did they know that?_ He wondered.

Rhys, he decided. The man must have told them.

“Goodness, those poor boys look half starved!” another exclaimed, and Harry felt the first stirrings of annoyance. He was _not_ a starved child, thank you very much.

“Stand up straight boy,” another called, “and act like the Pev—ouch!”

“Will you keep quiet!” a woman hissed.

“There is no need to stand on ceremony for these children,” another said disdainfully.

The Charlus look-alike’s portrait rolled his eyes – _portraits could do that?_ – and said, “Quite wonderful of you to grace us with your presence Ralston, truly, we are honoured.”

Snickering followed that statement as the other people crowding in the portraits voiced their opinions.

“Go on cousin, insult the future of our House!”

“Must you continue to behave so boorishly Ralston?”

A man scoffed, “He’s a jealous lout, wishes he could have been the one to restore us to our glory!”

“Pah! Who said anything about these filthy children returning us to our rightful place?” Ralston sneered.

“You bloody mongrel!” the Charlus look-alike exclaimed furiously, smile twisted into a snarl as he glowered at the man.

They all spoke Welsh, the conversation devolving into arguments that seemed to bring back age-old insults and anger. He did not understand some of the words they used, most if he was being honest, but he caught Ed wincing lightly and a thunderous look appear on the two women’s faces.

“Silence!” a woman’s voice boomed. The portraits all immediately fell quiet. Some of them fled the portraits completely, although they were few in number. A space had opened up in the portrait to his far left, near the door and closest to the grey-eyed woman, as a young woman appeared. She was clearly well respected, or feared, as the others remained silent. Looking at her Harry could definitely see the family resemblance. She had the same hair, dark and curly, falling down her back in an unruly manner despite the small braids he could see. Her eyes were green, not like his or Ed’s, more the colour of grass. She looked tall, with high cheekbones and a sharp jaw, her face similar to what he saw in the mirror.

Glancing at Ed he noticed his brother staring at the woman, categorizing the similar features to them and the others.

“You have shamed yourselves, and shamed our House,” she said. “A fine way to introduce our heirs to their ancestors, displaying an appalling lack of decorum.”

The woman glared at the crowded portraits, and Harry could see several of them shifting in place. Satisfied at their silence, she turned back to them, a much softer look stealing over her features as she assessed the two brothers.

“Well,” she said in a musical voice, “none can dispute your heritage. You have the brows to mark your lineage.”

She looked between the two of them as Harry’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Brows? Looking at the portraits, he noticed a similar arch to their eyebrows, but he didn’t think it was enough to mark their heritage.

“Sit children. There is no need to stand, you are amongst family.”

Walking slowly toward the blue couch, Harry threw a look at Edward, glad to see similar confusion on his face before the older boy hid it behind his usual unflappable look. Sitting, they faced the portraits, Cousin Charlus content to keep quiet for now.

“You must be Edward,” she said. “Which of the twins would you be?”

Suddenly, Harry felt dozens of painted eyes on him. Swallowing nervously, he responded with a squeaked, “Henry.” He was rewarded with a smile from the woman, Cousin Charlus’s look-alike (brother?) and the woman next to him.

“Henry,” she mused. “I am Hortense Peverell.”

Surprised, Harry blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “Like Iolanthe Peverell?”

Hortense raised her eyebrows, an appraising look in her eyes. “You know of Iolanthe?”

Shifting slightly the boy murmured, “Rhys mentioned her.”

“Indeed. Iolanthe is my great-granddaughter, several generations removed.”

She turned to the other portraits, a sharp glare aimed at the two furthest from her, each containing a gaggle of Potters? Peverells? He was unsure of the exact relationship between all of them, or the names they carried, but Hortense had glowered enough to scare off a few more of them.

“Do you busybodies have nothing better to do?” She said sharply.

Murmurs rose from the portraits. One brave soul feebly called out a weak “…just here to welcome them to the family.”

“None desire your welcome at the moment, nephew. Be gone, all of you. You have seen to it that the children are more uncomfortable than they should be.”

With a final glare, Hortense waited as the others left the portraits amidst token grumbles of discontent. She looked unimpressed, and Harry noted that the other four portraits had slight smirks.

“That should keep them out for some time,” she sniffed. Turning to grace them with a smile she said, “Edward, Henry, be welcome wyrion.”

With a pointed glance at Cousin Charlus’s portrait she announced, “I’m certain you have much to discuss. I shall leave you to it,” before she waltzed out of her portrait.

Harry swore he heard muffled shouts echoing from somewhere above them before he turned his gaze to the four portraits a bit stunned.

Smiling kindly at the two boys the Charlus look-alike cheerfully broke the silence, “Well, that was not the welcome we were expecting. Bit difficult to keep those busybodies away. Horrid gossips the lot of them.”

A hissed “Fleamont!” came from the woman beside him, and Harry could not for the life of him think beyond the name. _Fleamont_, he mouthed in disbelief, and a laugh from the man in question caused Harry to flush in embarrassed realization that he had been seen.

“My grandmother, bless her soul, insisted my father keep her family name alive.”

“Poor uncle,” Cousin Charlus broke in with a grin on his face, “tormented by his fathers decision.”

“Who mistakes the surname for a given name?” Fleamont grumbled.

It seemed to be an old argument between them judging by the exasperated look the two women sported. Harry was a bit sympathetic, imagining if his father had named him something as ridiculous.

“Al’s middle name is Fleamont,” he remembered.

“Poor sod,” he muttered, “although James had the decency to keep it as a middle name instead.”

“He was named after our taid,” Ed said slowly, a strange look in his eyes.

_Named after…oh_, he thought.

He was smiling at Edward, beaming really. “Wyr. I suppose proper introductions are in order.”

Taid looked at the woman next to him fondly, “This is your Nain, Euphemia. You know my nephew Charlus, although Henry you have never met him. Next to him is his lovely wife Dorea.”

The three others smiled at them, all murmuring their hellos.

“Has Rhys been caring for you?” Charlus asked, a serious look on his face.

The other portraits also adopted a serious air, if that was possible, and Harry had a feeling that this conversation would follow along the lines of Ed’s first meeting with Rhys.

“He has,” Ed responded calmly. “He found us a few days ago.”

“Where,” the grey-eyed woman, cousin Dorea, drawled, “did he find the two of you?”

Pursing his lips Ed replied with a short, “Muggle orphanage.”

Four unhappy faces met them, although Harry was assuming Cousin Dorea was unhappy. The woman looked unimpressed, almost like the Matron whenever the children had caused too much trouble. Something told him she would not like the comparison.

“Muggles.” their Nain whispered.

“Alexander?” Charlus asked.

“We don’t know,” Ed admitted. Harry knew how much it pained the older boy to not know of their younger brother’s whereabouts. “Rhys is looking to see if he is in the muggle world.”

“I see.” Charlus looked upset, face blank as his blue eyes shone with repressed emotion. “You will be staying here of course. Rhys will be informed that your stay is permanent, no exceptions.”

They had been unaware of any exceptions, only that they would be moving to a new location.

“What is this place?” Harry asked curiously.

“Welcome to Llew’s Falls,” Charlus said proudly. “Home to the House of Peverell for two millennia.”

Harry didn’t know what a millennia was, but he could tell it had to be a large number and made an appropriately impressed squawk.

“How?” Edward gasped.

“Magic!” Taid responded with a laugh.

“Peverell?” he asked.

Mischief shone brightly in the eyes of the two men, and even their Nain and cousin Dorea had mirth visible.

“Yes, little cousin. Peverell.”

“From Iolanthe,” Edward stated.

“Not quite,” Dorea said.

“Time for a history lesson,” Taid said. The man was practically bouncing in excitement. “Under normal circumstances, you would have been slowly introduced to this part of our history, but needs must.”

Sharing a bemused glance with Ed, Harry braced himself. Ed had the same look in his eyes before he did something unexpected. He swore Harry had a similar look. Judging by the look on their Nain’s face, this was something they all shared in common.

“What year is it now?” Taid asked unexpectedly.

“1984,” Ed responded, slightly puzzled.

“Ah, yes. Yes, I see. Well, boys. Nine hundred years ago, or nearly thereabouts, there were several members of the House of Peverell alive. Different branches, totalling nearly a hundred members with the name.”

He couldn’t imagine having a hundred relatives, and he was certain Ed was thinking the same thing.

“The Heir Peverell at the time, Cadfael, felt as if the House was in danger.”

“He had a hundred relatives!” Ed exclaimed.

“Darling, there were over two hundred Peverells a hundred years before Cadfael,” Euphemia interjected.

Nodding solemnly, Taid continued, “Yes, the family was quite large. War and sabotage had lessened their numbers, though that is a discussion for later. Cadfael feared for the future of his House, and with the permission of his father, he sent his pregnant wife into hiding with a minor vassal.”

“A good move on his part, considering what came next” Dorea said.

“Aye, he…”

“Should we be telling the children all of this?” their Nain interrupted. “They can be informed without the full tale, surely.”

“Considering what they have gone through, I believe they can be informed,” Charlus said. Seeing Euphemia open her mouth, he raised his hands in a calming gesture. “Peace, aunt, we’ll not go into too much detail.”

She didn’t look pleased, but agreed with a short nod.

“Where was I? Yes! Cadfael had sent his wife away in fear for her safety, and days after Samhain he was attacked and killed. In the chaos, his attackers assumed that they had also harmed his wife.

Of course, what they did not know was that she was safely delivered of a daughter, whom she called Eliana after the girl’s aunt. Eliana was raised outside of Wales, where she met and married a son of a minor house. She herself would go on to have a son, whom she named Linfred, and he became known as Linfred of Stinchcombe.”

Here, Fleamont paused. There was what could only be defined as a wicked grin on his face, something he shared with Charlus.

“Linfred,” he began, “would grow up to become a potions master. He was described as always pottering around his garden, where he grew his own ingredients, and so they also called him The Potterer. He had seven sons, and when Linfred’s achievements were recognized and the King ennobled him, his eldest son took the name Potter and became the first Lord Potter.”

Harry’s jaw was hanging open as his mind raced over what he had just been told. Edward was no better, and he was certain he heard the older boy spluttering. Charlus and Fleamont were openly grinning, no doubt at their reactions, and their wives were similarly displaying open amusement.

Hardwin Potter was the first Lord Potter, Rhys had told him. Hardwin Potter, who married Iolanthe Peverell. Hardwin Potter, whose real name was actually Hardwin Peverell. A Peverell son.

“He was a Peverell,” Ed whispered.

“Yes,” Taid responded.

“He was the Peverell heir,” Ed said in stunned disbelief.

Charlus replied with a smug “Yes.”

“Bloody hell!” Ed whispered.

Laughter from the two men covered their Nain’s scolding, chiding the older boy on his language at the same time as cousin Dorea.

“You look like Charlus did when he was first told,” Fleamont said gleefully.

“It is amusing when you are witness to the reactions.”

“Do close your mouth Henry, it’s unbefitting of a young man such as yourself,” Dorea said.

Snapping his mouth closed, Harry thought on all that had been revealed to them. They were Peverells. The name Potter had been hiding their real heritage, though how nobody had figured it out considering they all looked very similar was a surprise. _Magic_, he decided, _that’s how people were kept unaware_. He didn’t know what exactly it meant to be a Peverell, but from Rhys’s words and the sheer size of this place, he assumed that being one meant something important.

_Bloody hell_, he thought. _Next, they’ll tell us Ed’s meant to be a king!_

Laughing softly to himself at the thought, he turned to look at Ed. His eyebrows were raised, face stamped with his surprise.

“Is it safe to tell us this?” Ed suddenly said. “How have you kept it secret for so long?”

Brow’s furrowed, Taid inquired, “Why wouldn’t it be safe?”

“Secrets are only safe in the grave,” Harry retorted.

That startled a laugh out of Dorea. Her grey eyes were shining in amusement and something Harry couldn’t decipher. Frowning, he stared at her portrait, a look of consternation on his face.

“Magic,” answered Fleamont.

Holding back an eye roll, Harry felt as if the easy way out of any answers would be magic. _Pity_, he thought. _I would like to know how it all works_.

“It’s a bit difficult to explain,” he elaborated.

“When you have a few lessons, a better understanding of magic and how it all works, how the _family_ works,” Charlus continued, “then we can give you a full explanation. It will serve to further confuse you if we went ahead without.”

“I’m already confused,” Harry muttered.

Sighing, Taid spoke up, voice tinged with amusement. “Usually, we wait until the children have reached an acceptable age to tell them, but it seems as if Edward would inform you with or without our approval.”

Flushing slightly, Edward jutted his chin out in acknowledgement of his defiance. Laughter was the only answer they received.

“Nevertheless,” Charlus said. “You may be too young for this information, Henry. Yet we have much to cover in so little time.”

“What does all of this even mean?” he asked. He could feel Ed’s burning curiosity and knew the older boy was just as interested in the answer.

“You will learn it all in due time,” Charlus said.

“For now,” Taid cut in, “you should rest and settle in. You are at the age when lessons begin for young Peverell heirs, Henry, and Edward has much to learn before he comes of school age.”

Dorea was staring intently at the two boys before she dryly interjected, “You’ll overwhelm them before they even get to their lessons.”

An embarrassed smile came on Taid’s face as Charlus cleared his throat and said, “Yes, perhaps we’ve said too much. Lunch will be served soon, but first we should get you boys settled in. Lear!”

A sudden pop caused him to jump in his seat to shuffle closer to Edward. There was a tiny creature standing in front of the portraits.

“What can Lear do for the Masters?” he said in a deep monotone.

“House-elf,” Ed whispered in his ear.

“Lear, these are Edward and Henry. They will be moving in permanently. If you could make escort them to their rooms so they may wash up.” Charlus said.

The elf turned towards them. He was as tall as Harry, with mottled skin, an overlarge nose and large bulbous eyes. He was wearing a purple cloth tied at both shoulders, a small crest on the left side, and rough leather sandals.

“If the young masters will follow me,” Lear requested.

Warily, Harry stood to follow the elf.

“Send Rhys in on your way out. We shall have to inform him of how he will proceed.”

“Of course, Master Charlus.”

Seeing Ed nod to the portraits, Harry grabbed the older boy’s outstretched hand as they followed after Lear, the elf having sent in the steward. Rhys looked calm, if a little amused at the lingering shock that surely covered their faces.

Lear led them down another hall, this one also lined with portraits and tapestries. There were small windows here that showed a small paved garden, completely different from the first that they had seen in that it had small tables and chairs.

They reached a staircase, smaller than the one in the entryway. This one also had purple carpets, and portraits of past Peverells lined the walls. They bypassed the first level, the stairwell evening out before splitting into two long corridors. Following along the left hall, Harry looked out the window to his right and noticed that they faced another garden. There was a drawbridge further down, and he could make out the shape of a tower from his vantage point.

They turned right into a smaller corridor, and Lear led them up a different set of stairs. More portraits lined the walls, although most of these Peverells simply stared at them or were sleeping.

“How large is this place?” Ed asked.

Without glancing back at them the elf rattled off information about the house. “There are five hundred rooms, seven interior gardens, one outer garden, twenty-three staircases, two Greek baths, four guard towers, two internal towers where the main solarium rests, and over two thousand family portraits. The castle itself contains four levels above ground, which includes everything I have mentioned.”

Ed looked as if he was barely refraining from gaping, before shaking his head as if to clear it. He could understand why they had so many rooms if there were over two hundred Peverells at one point in time, and each of them it seemed had a portrait in the castle.

They walked down a large corridor leading toward what Harry felt was the back of the castle, although he did not know how the place was arranged.

“Are there levels below ground?” Ed asked next.

Lear gave them a sidelong glance before nodding. “There are several levels only a Peverell can enter. The elves are forbidden without permission, young masters, except in the tapestry room.”

“What’s a tapestry room?” he asked curiously.

“It shows the family tree, Master Henry. Every Peverell from Master Alexandros is listed.”

Before he could ask his next question, Lear suddenly stopped in front of a short corridor. The walls here were a purpled grey, smooth and undisturbed by windows, the floor made of dusky grey marble. There were three doors that he could see, each spaced far from one another. The central door was the only one along the back wall of the corridor, the door bracketed by tapestries showing gatherings of magicals and wall sconces to provide light. There was something etched onto the door on a bronze plaque, words he could not make out at this distance. To his left and right were two other doors, although these had portraits lining their walls. At the moment, the portraits were empty, and no name showed who was meant to be occupying them.

“Master Edward, the heir suite has been made up for your use,” Lear said, pointing to the door directly across from them. “Master Henry, you may choose either of the remaining rooms. The last shall be left for Master Alexander’s use.”

Startled slightly, Harry walked toward the room on the left, seeing from the corner of his eye Ed walk over to his assigned room. Opening the door, he barely heard Lear telling them that he would return to escort them to lunch.

Clearly, the elf and cousin Charlus did not know the meaning of a room. There was a suite of rooms inside, and poking his head out of the door to see the distance between his door and Ed’s, he was convinced magic played a part in making the rooms this large.

He had walked into a sitting room, smaller than the one he first saw. The walls here were a dark red, almost as dark as the colour of Ed’s ring, with bronze accents. The floor was dark wood, red-brown, and the sofa and armchairs were a beige bordering on tan, all surrounding a dark wood coffee table. There was an empty portrait on the wall, underneath which there were several bookcases. Most contained books, and some of the shelves were empty.

There was a door to the left, and two doors on the right wall. Curiously, Harry opened the single door first, poking his head in to see a powder room. Crossing the room, he opened the door to his left. This led to a large bedroom, the walls coloured the same as the sitting room. There was a four-poster bed made of the same wood as the floor, and he saw a large armoire in the far wall. A soft rug covered the floor, and Harry saw bookcases lining walls. There was a bay window with a covered seat, the view showing stables beneath them and the unending sea, a desk and chair placed next to it.

A door was to his immediate right, and opening it Harry saw that it led to a full bathroom. The sink was right in front, white marble with grey tiled walls and floors. There was a toilet to the left, and a sliding door that led to a separate bath and shower. Walking toward the sink he saw another door that led back to the sitting room.

_This must be the first door I saw_, he thought.

Tracing his steps back out into the hall, he made his way to Ed’s rooms. The plaque read _Edward Charlus, Heir Peverell_. The first thing he noticed was the slightly similar setup. Ed’s rooms opened into a sitting room, grey chairs, silver walls, and purple carpets. There were tapestries hanging in the room, and a window was covering the entirety of the left wall showing the same view as Harry’s room. In front of the window was a large black desk, a dark blue winged back armchair behind it. Turning, he noticed an empty portrait to the right of the desk as he made his way to the armchairs and promptly flung himself on the nearest one.

This was too much, too fast. They had been unwanted orphans less than a week ago: despite all that Ed had said about their family, Harry hadn’t believed that someone would suddenly remember them. Only, someone had remembered and apparently searched for years. Now they were acknowledged wizards, heirs to a legacy and name older than he could fathom.

“It’s different, isn’t it?”

Startled, he looked at the open door to the left. Ed pushed off the doorway, making his way calmly to the sofa next to him.

“It’s a lot,” he admitted.

Smiling slightly, Ed patted the seat next to him. Making his way, Ed gently pulled him into his side, placing a small kiss on his head.

“We’ll be fine,” he swore into his hair. “I promise you. We’re home, safe, and soon we will find Alexander and everything will be as it should be.”

Pulling back slightly, he felt Ed’s hand cup his chin, face tilting to meet identical green eyes.

“Have I ever lied to you, little brother?”

He hadn’t. Not outright, not really. If there was something he thought Harry was too young to know, or it was too painful for Ed to recall, he simply promised to tell him another time. “No,” he breathed.

“We’ll find Al and we’ll be together as a family, and damn anyone who tries to come between us.”

* * *

It would take several months before they could make good on that promise. Harry had been in the library, at a small gathering of chairs facing the portrait of cousin Eurwyn. The older man favoured his father in looks, with the features of the Peverell family, but he had his mother’s heavy-lidded grey eyes and curls, giving him a devil may care look. Harry was only slightly jealous, as while his hair curled, cousin Eurwyn had far curlier hair than either brother and it framed his face handsomely.

He was meant to be learning Welsh, going over the proper sentence structure of the language. Typically, his language lessons were with Nain Euphemia, but cousin Eurwyn was in a good mood and willing to do more than sulk around the boys. Instead of learning language, he was currently entertaining Harry with a tale of his time as the Ravenclaw chaser.

Their first meeting had been disastrous by all standards. Eurwyn had been unwilling to meet the two boys until nearly a month into their stay, and he had simply glared coldly at them when introduced. Taid had excused the man, reminding them that they sat where Eurwyn’s children were meant to be, and the lack of portrait for his children meant that all he had were memories of Aurelius and Maia, dead before their time.

It hadn’t taken long for the upset four-year old to forgive the man his rudeness. Ed had been far more sympathetic to their cousin, and the two managed to get along well enough. Cousin Eurwyn had his moments of sullenness, but he was getting on much better.

Secretly, Harry thought Aunt Dorea had something to do with that.

“…Professor McGonagall didn’t manage to duck in time and instead got a lapful of quidditch players. Cygnus never let me live that down. First quidditch match as chaser and I bungled it up.”

Harry was laughing loudly, joined by Eurwyn’s soft chuckles. He tried to imagine a twelve-year old Eurwyn, tall and gangly with the accursed knobby knees, scrambling to get off his professor’s lap.

“What did she do?” he asked, green eyes wide and sparkling with amusement.

Snickering, the man responded “Detention. Three days I believe, for _deliberate targeting of a professor_. It was all Cygnus’s fault anyhow.”

“Still complaining about that are you?” Aunt Dorea cut in. The woman had insisted on being called aunt and Charlus uncle, since the man referred to Nain and Taid as aunt and uncle.

Eurwyn was cringing lightly like a young boy being caught doing something he shouldn’t. Harry himself was more amused. Eurwyn’s portrait was twenty-two years old and painted when he married Rosalind Fawley. He had updated it with his memories until shortly before his death at thirty-three, and yet the older man still sat in fear of being scolded by his mother.

“Mother.”

“’lo Auntie,” he chirped.

Grinning at the slightly cross look the older woman gave him at his butchering of the English language, he contented himself with staring at the two in anticipation.

“You must need more lessons dear if you continue to forget to finish your words.”

Laughing, Harry simply responded with a winning smile.

“Language lessons for today, was it not Eurwyn?” she asked imperiously.

“Yes, of course,” he replied smoothly. “We were simply in the middle of a much needed break.”

“Naturally. A break every ten minutes at this rate,” she drawled.

“Mother, really. Henry is _four_.”

Before he could respond and correct their assumption on his age – _he was four and two-thirds thank you very much!_ – a loud whoop of glee caught their attention.

“They found him!” Taid shouted. “They’ve found Alexander!”

Stunned, Harry turned his head sharply to the portrait closest to the door. Taid was sprinting between portraits to make his way closer.

“What do you mean they’ve found him?” Eurwyn demanded.

Laughing joyously, Taid responded “With their muggle aunt. Rhys says someone saw the boy in the front lawn, and they have been preparing to speak with the family. They'll be ready to go meet them in two days time.”

Joy flooded through him along with a curling feeling of dread. Vaguely, he heard the others discussing what had taken so long, but his mind was far away. He should be happy. He _was_ happy. They knew where Alexander was now. Had seen him and been able to confirm it was the child they were looking for. What would they find when they went to the house? Would Alexander even want to come with them?

_Stop it,_ he told himself. Ed swore they would all be together again, as they always should have been.

So why did Harry have such a terrible feeling that things were going to go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:
> 
> Taid: grandfather  
Nain: grandmother  
Wyr/wyrion: grandson(s)
> 
> Next Chapter: we finally meet the boy-who-lived.


	4. Alexander I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rescue mission, and Alexander is introduced to new family members.

Alexander Potter was terribly confused.

The reason for his confusion started several days ago. There had been an elderly gentleman in the neighbourhood, tall and broad with silver-streaked red hair. Uncle Vernon thought he was buying a house and had been polite to the well-dressed man. Until he made a point of introducing himself to Alexander.

He had been locked in his cupboard for that, even when he swore he did not know the man. Uncle Vernon had been unwilling to listen, as usual, and so Alexander had been left in the dark with the spiders and dust mites and a stale piece of toast for dinner. 

His rotten luck had only seemed to continue from there, but the young boy could argue that his luck had been rotten for as long as he could remember. Alexander had no memories of his parents. The one time he had asked, shortly before his fourth birthday, Aunt Petunia had spat, “they died in a car crash caused by your drunken father.”

“Don’t ask questions!” Uncle Vernon had shouted. That had been one of the first lessons he learned.

As far back as Alexander could remember he had lived with his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and their son Dudley. Aunt Petunia was his mother’s sister, tall, bony and blonde, Uncle Vernon almost as wide as he was tall, and Dudley a small copy of the worst bits of his parents.

In his darkest nights, Alexander fervently wished for someone to come and rescue him from the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon always threatened to drop him off at an orphanage, and at his lowest he disregarded the terrible things Petunia had told him about orphanages and wondered how much better his life would be without the Dursleys. But they were the only family he had, and as Uncle Vernon often complained, they had taken in their poor orphaned nephew out of the goodness of their hearts.

This had been one of those odd days. The Dursley family had recently returned from a trip, leaving Alexander with the elderly Mrs. Figg. She often babysat Al when the Dursleys went out even though the boy hated the lingering scent of her cats. Uncle Vernon had received a notice the same day they met the elderly man. There was a very important client coming to meet with the Dursleys, and Uncle Vernon had promised a world of pain if Alexander ruined anything.

Of course, living with the Dursleys meant that anything that went wrong was usually Alexander’s fault. The mailman brought the paper late, Al must have done something. Milk soured, Al’s fault, the weather changing from forecasted sun to pouring rain was also Alexander’s fault. Burnt breakfast, entirely his fault.

Although, the breakfast was not entirely wrong. Petunia should have known better than to attempt to teach him how to cook and “earn his keep”. Alexander was _four_, very nearly five, but still very much a small child. He was far thinner than Dudley, who at the same age was twice Al’s size, and at least a few inches shorter. But the boy could now see the top of the stove while standing on a stool, and so Aunt Petunia deemed him ready to start cooking. 

They conveniently forgot that Al was nowhere near strong enough to lift the skillet, and dropping the eggs on the ground had gotten him a frying pan to the head that he managed to dodge enough for it to graze him instead, and sentenced to the cupboard for the rest of the day.

This was also the same day Uncle Vernon’s new business associates came.

Alexander had done as expected of him. He sat in his cupboard and twiddled his thumbs. Aunt Petunia had let him eat before the guests came and allowed him to use the washroom, so he was expected to keep quiet. Easy to do since there was not another soul to speak to.

The doorbell rang loudly; Uncle Vernon’s heavy shuffling heard through the cupboard as he hastened to welcome his guests.

“H-hello! W-w-welcome,” he stuttered in surprise.

“Yes,” the man said. “Dursley, is it?” The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but Al could not for the life of him remember where he had heard it.

“Yes sir, Vernon Dursley.” His voice trembled slightly in shock. “Might I introduce my wife Petunia, and this is our son Dudley.” Al imagined that the man had puffed up his chest in exaggerated pride.

“A pleasure. I am Alexander Lloyd. Accompanying me are my wife Linda, our son Ryan and grandson Charles.”

They had passed his cupboard, and Al could guess that they had made their way into the seating room.

The area was silent for some time; Al could not tell how long the Lloyd’s had been here. He had spent his time as usual, playing with the broken toy soldiers he had managed to sneak in. Al must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing he recalled was his cupboard being violently opened.

Springing up from the little mattress, he threw himself back against the wall in an effort to avoid his uncle.

Except, it was not Uncle Vernon standing in front of him.

The boy was older than him, tall and lanky in a way that did not look unhealthy, with hair a deep red shot through with brown. Al swore when he saw his eyes flash a startling green, but it must have been a trick of the light for he saw pale blue orbs staring at him in shock and a bit of anger. The boy’s lips tightened in fury, and Al flinched back in surprise.

There was yelling in the background, and Al could see the guests on their feet. The woman was making her way toward them, and Al stared with wide eyes at the two.

“Hey, hey,” the boy soothed, crouching down so he was at level with him. “We’re not going to hurt you Al.”

“How d’you know my name?” he asked in fear.

The unknown boy – _Charles_ they had called him – had a sad smile on his face. His eyes were filled with untold emotion, and he seemed to be memorizing Al’s face.

He sat down at the door to the cupboard; only a glance behind him to shake his head at his grandmother stopped her from coming closer.

“…_WE SWORE WE WOULD STAMP THAT FREAKISHNESS OUT OF HIM!” _Uncle Vernon roared.

Al flinched, and he saw Charles’s eyes darken as he noticed.

“You don’t have to stay here,” the older boy said.

“They are my family,” he replied dully. “There’s nobody else.” Hadn’t that been what they always said?

“They lied,” Charles insisted. “You have other family. _Real_ family who want you. Nothing like these people.”

His words made his chest swell in mingled hope and dread. A part of Alexander dared to hope that the boy meant it. He had yearned for a proper family for so long, ever since he had been old enough to realize what his cousin had was something he was missing.

Yet he did not want to allow himself to dream of it only to be disappointed in the end. Al had woken from many pleasant dreams of long-lost family members coming to rescue him, only to feel crushed at his continued stay with the Dursleys.

“I don’t have any other family,” Al whispered.

Charles hesitated, and Al could see the conflict in his eyes before they turned to steel, the older boy seemingly coming to a decision.

The yelling had settled down, though Alexander could hear snippets of conversation. Mentions of a name, Dumbly-something, a letter, witches, and freaks reached his ears. Still, he stared at Charles in wary acceptance.

The boy lifted his hands to his neck, grabbing what Al saw was a long thing chain of some sort. He slowly lifted it, lips pulling into a small smile before his face rippled.

Al felt his breath catch, and he heard the blood rushing through his ears.

Charles’s face had changed almost like magic.

_No_, he thought. _There’s no such thing as magic!_

Where once he had seen red hair and blue eyes, the boy in front of him had a shock of unruly black curls and startling green eyes. He was staring at a face that looked very similar to Alexander’s own. They had the same cheekbones, the same brows.

“H-how…how di-did that?…what?” he stammered.

“Magic,” Charles – was that even his name – replied.

There was an alarmed look in the older boy’s eyes as Al shook. His breath was coming in short bursts and his lungs felt as if there was not enough air in the world to sustain him. “_There’s no such thing as magic,_” he whispered hysterically.

“AL!”

There was shouting, that much he was aware of. The boy’s eyes were wide with fear and Alexander struggled to breathe, spots dancing in his eyes.

The boy was reaching out to him, arms yanking Al out of his cupboard, and he felt someone brush his hair away from his forehead.

They were calling his name, but Alexander felt as if his hearing had suddenly gone muffled, as if filled with water.

_He looks like me, like he could be my brother_ he thought.

_“Magic,” Charles whispered_.

_THERE’S NO SUCH THING_, his mind screamed at him. The spots were getting larger, the edges of his vision turning black.

A hand grabbed his chin, tilting his face to the right. The last thing he saw was a pair of worried green eyes.

* * *

He woke up in an unfamiliar room. 

The bed he was sleeping in was different, large and exceptionally comfortable to the point of discomfort. Al had never slept on something so soft. There was a canopy over his head, a deep blue that lightened when the sunlight touched.

It was quiet, barely any noise to be heard as Alexander fought to remain calm. A small rustling drew his attention to his left, and he saw the boy with the green eyes from the other night sitting in a chair calmly as if he had been waiting for Alexander to wake up all day.

“Were you here the entire time?” he croaked.

“Just came in a few minutes ago,” he said as he stood to hand Al a glass of water.

Gulping down the drink greedily, Al was embarrassed at the sight he must make.

The older boy waved him off as he flushed and mumbled an apology.

He took the silence as an opportunity to look around. The room was large, bigger than Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s room. _Probably twice the size of their room_, he thought. The walls were blue, dark like the sky just before the sunset, and the furniture he could see was the brown with gray carpeting. An frame of an empty library was directly in front of his bed. There was a large window to his right, a seat beneath it, with a desk and chair next to it. A platter of food was placed on the desk, as was the cup and a jug that was filled with water.

The sound of the older boy clearing his throat dragged Alexander’s attention back to him. The air was slightly awkward, and he seemed almost as nervous as Al felt.

“You probably have some questions,” he stated.

Warily, Al silently stared at him.

Seeing that he was unwilling to speak, the older boy simply smiled and continued on. “My name is Edward,” he said. “Edward Potter.”

Al stared in confusion before the boy’s – _Edward_ – words registered. “You’re…”

“Your older brother,” he finished.

“Aunt Petunia never mentioned you,” Al whispered. He was almost afraid that speaking loudly would bring him crashing to reality.

Edward was scowling fiercely, and Al once again noticed the startling resemblance. _He has to be telling the truth_, he thought.

“No, she wouldn’t have. Surprisingly kind of her,” Edward confessed.

His lips twitched at the older boy’s words, agreeing entirely with the sentiment. Petunia Dursley was many things, but _kind_ was not something Al would use to describe her. Not when it came to him.

“When mum and dad died,” he sighed, as if in pain, “we were separated. Someone they trusted had taken you and put you on the Dursley’s doorstep while Harry and I were taken to an orphanage. Y—”

“Who’s Harry?” he interrupted.

Blinking slowly, Edward ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, I’ve gone and bungled it all up. Harry is our brother, your older twin.”

_Oh_, he thought. _A twin_. Alexander had never expected any of this. He had dreamed of family members, but they had always been older; an aunt or uncle, perhaps grandparents from his father’s side, even a cousin or two. Never had he thought that he would find siblings, especially ones close to his age.

“Are there any more of you?” Al asked curiously.

Edward was shaking his head, “Just the three of us. Mum and dad were pretty young when they had us.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Listen, Al,” Edward began, leaning forward in his seat. “I know this is a lot, but we did not expect you to not know anything.”

“I know some things,” he defended.

“I don’t mean it like that,” Edward said soothingly. “Aunt Petunia hasn’t told you what happened to mum and dad, nor about our family, none of it. Not even a single word of what you could do.”

An unsettling feeling coursed through him. He had a feeling the older boy was talking about what happened the other night.

“You’re a wizard, Al,” Ed said softly, cautious of another panic attack. “We all are; you, me, Harry, mum and dad. Dad comes from a family of wizards and witches.”

Al remained silent, disbelief coursing through him. “The Dursley’s—”

“_Lied to you about many things_,” he said. Edward’s eyes softened, and he reached forward to tentatively hold Al’s hand. When he didn’t pull away, the older boy relaxed. “They didn’t tell you about magic, made sure they never mentioned it, because Aunt Petunia knew. She knew that any odd things happening around you were because of accidental magic. They told you mum and dad died in a car crash—”

“They didn’t?” he asked, hesitantly. As long as he could remember, Al had been told his parents had died in a car crash. It was where he got the scar on his forehead.

“No, no they didn’t.” They had lied to him. He didn’t know why he was so surprised. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had made their disdain clear, had told the neighbours that he was a troubled child. He hadn’t expected Aunt Petunia to lie so obviously about her sister’s death.

“Like I said,” he began, “we all have magic. There’s an entire world, hidden and full of magicals.” He could not imagine such a thing, a world full of people who could apparently do fantastical things.

“Some of these people use their magic for good, others for evil. There was a war that started years before either of us was born. Mum and Dad fought in it along with their friends. They were killed by the Dark Lord that night.” Al looked at Edward’s anguished face and very nearly told him to stop talking. It was clearly bothering the older boy, and Al had the horrible feeling that Edward knew more than a child should.

“Where are we?” he asked. The room was finer than anywhere Al had ever seen, and he _was_ interested in the answer.

“Llew’s Falls,” Edward said proudly, a smile lighting his features. “It’s been in dad’s family for a very long time.”

“Oh,” Al whispered. He studied the room with a bit of awe. _This was his family’s_, he thought.

“I need to head out for a bit,” Edward said apologetically, already standing as if to leave. “You should get some rest. There’ll be food brought in, but you might be tired for the next days.”

“I’m not tired,” Al protested, stifling a sudden yawn behind his hand. He blinked up innocently at Edward seeing the knowing look in his eyes.

“Get some sleep Al,” he said fondly. “We’ll talk more later, and you can meet Harry when you are fully rested.”

“G’bye Edward,” he murmured.

He stopped at the door, turning back to flash Al a smile. “Call me Ed,” he said, “Edward is too formal for family.”

Smiling back at him, Alexander watched as the boy left him on his own. He flopped back on his bed, thinking of what Edward had just told him. _My brother_, he thought, _an older brother and a twin_.

_Magic_, his mind whispered. No, there was…but there was, wasn’t there? Aunt Petunia had lied to him about everything but his name. She knew, had always known. As drowsiness kicked in, a giddy feeling washed over Al.

_I’m a wizard! And I have a family that wants me!_

* * *

The next few days were spent in a similar routine. Al was almost always tired, spending most of each day drooling into his pillow. Edward would visit when he was awake, bringing him food and answering whatever questions he had, telling him about why he had to stay in his rooms.

It was a nice feeling, having an older brother to take care of him. Ed always answered, even the silliest of questions, and he’d been polite enough to cover his laugh when the house elf popped in with tea, startling Alexander to the point where the younger boy threw himself onto Ed’s lap. 

He spent the most time in his bedroom – _and he could not believe it was all his_ – but Ed had told him he was free to explore the rest of his rooms while he healed. He thought the older boy had been exaggerating, until Al discovered that he really did have a suite of rooms. Much like his bedroom, the walls were a deep blue, the furniture made of dark wood and leather, and the gray carpet covered pale wood the colour of ash.

Al had been in confinement for five days before he met Harry. He sat on the sofa in his sitting room, a book open on his lap, when someone barrelled into his rooms.

Glancing at the door in surprise, Al froze as he met identical green eyes that were wide with shock. The boy looked just a bit taller than Al himself, with the same wild black hair that seemed to run in the family. He was wearing a purple shirt and black pants. His hands were tucked behind his back as they both stared silently.

The boy pushed off the door and strode closer to Al. “You’re short,” he said, head cocked to the side as he scrutinized Al. “I thought the potions would have made you taller.”

“So are you,” Al retorted, face flushed in embarrassment.

Laughing, he moved to sit in the armchair next to Al. There was something red poking out from behind his arm, but Al could not tell what it was. It was slightly unnerving, being scrutinized by someone who looked so much like him. _They weren’t identical_, he noted in disappointment. It would have been wonderful to have an identical twin.

Harry seemingly agreed with his thoughts. “Ed did say we weren’t identical, but you look a lot like me.” He seemed somewhat surprised at that. “Just a few changes and we would have looked the same.”

He shook his head, “Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself did I?” Laughing a bit as he ran a hand through his hair he said, “Name’s Henry. Henry James, but everyone calls me Harry.”

Blinking in surprise, Al blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Your middle name is James?”

“Yep,” he chirped. “And yours is Fleamont.”

Choking on his words, Al heard Harry’s laughter ring out. Turning wide eyes onto the boy, Harry merely shrugged, “Dad named you after his father. Ta—granddad’s all beat up about it.”

_Fleamont_, he mouthed, and promptly heard a snort of laughter from Harry. “I know,” he said laughingly.

As Harry’s laughter tapered off, the two boys were left in an awkward silence. What did you say to the twin you just met? Talking to Ed had been easier, at least he had questions he could ask then.

“Here,” Harry said, fidgeting. He was holding out a red stuffed toy, a dragon from the looks of it. “This is Sir Llew. He makes me feel better sometimes, and I…thought…you can have him.”

“Oh,” he said, blinking owlishly. Warmth filled him at the gesture. “Thanks Harry,” he murmured.

“It’s fine,” Harry replied softly, face tinged pink.

“Wait, what potions?” Al asked, remembering what he said.

He looked at Al in surprise. “What?”

“You said potions, earlier,” Al reminded him.

Understanding dawned on his face, “Yeah, yeah, they had you taking potions to get better. Why do you think you were sleeping for so long?”

“I only slept a day!” he exclaimed.

Harry was looking at him strangely, “You’ve been asleep for nearly a week before you met Ed.” A small smirk pulled at his face, “Don’t tell me you didn’t ask him?”

Flushing, Alexander tried to recall his conversation with Ed, but he did not remember ever asking the day. “It must have slipped my mind,” he mumbled.

Harry was silent, and chancing a peek at him, Al saw the boy staring at him with an intense look in his eyes.

“No one here will ever hurt you Al,” he said, “you know that, right?”

Alexander swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat. “W-why…” he tried.

“They were your family, and they were supposed to take care of you.” He looked upset, far more upset than Al had ever been over his circumstances. His face must have shown something for he suddenly smiled slyly, “Nain swore up a storm. I don’t think cousin Eurwyn has recovered from _that_.”

Latching onto the new topic he asked, “Who’s nain? And Er-er-wyn?”

“Eurwyn,” Harry corrected. “It means golden, cause he’s Uncle Charlus’s golden child.” He rolled his eyes at that. “He’s our third? Second? Yes, second cousin, once removed. And Nain is Welsh for grandmother. She _never_ curses. Uncle Charlus swore he never heard her do it in his life.”

Gaping at the thought of all these relatives, he stared perplexed at Harry as he continued nattering on about their Nain’s language surprising all of the portraits.

“Harry,” he said slowly, “when have you ever spoken to these people?”

Harry looked at him as if he was daft, “Their portraits, Al. All over the house.”

“Why would the portr—right, let me guess, magic?” Al retorted.

“Right in one nephew,” a booming voice called out from behind him, startling Al. Harry merely rolled his eyes, clearly used to this behaviour, and Al turned to see the frame behind him was not empty. The last few days it had been unoccupied, showing a study of some sort, although there was a large pot with something bubbling in it.

The man standing in the portrait was tall, with the same unruly black hair. They had the same brows, and Al noticed that his nose was long and straight, much like his own. The man was smiling at Al before turning a glare onto Harry.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in lessons?”

“I finished,” Harry said cheekily.

“Eurwyn let you leave early,” he stated. “_That pest is far too lenient. Had I been alive you would have been caned for skipping lessons_,” he growled.

“_Good thing you’re not alive then_,” Harry retorted.

Seeing the man’s lips pull back in a snarl, Al hurriedly asked, “_Who are you?_”

Silence greeted his question, and Al noticed both Harry and the unknown uncle staring at him flabbergasted. “What?” he asked self-consciously. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Al,” Harry began slowly, green eyes glinting. “Did yo—”

“You’re a parselmouth!” the man exclaimed. “Another one in the family. _Oh, this is very auspicious. Perhaps you three are different._”

“Yes, thank you Leander, you’ve confused him.” Harry hissed.

The man simply waved his hand, dismissing Harry’s words. His blue eyes were locked onto Al, staring at him appraisingly. “A parselmouth, nephew, is someone with the ability to speak to snakes. It is a talent that shows itself every few generations.”

_Snake speaker_, he thought. Really, magic was such an odd thing. “You’re a parce—snake speaker?” he asked Harry.

Nodding, Harry replied with a quick “Yes,” eyes bright with some unnamed emotion.

“Leander was the Potter in his generation to have inherited the gift,” Harry elaborated. "I thought I was the only..."

“I’m not the only one nephew,” Leander smirked. “Certainly the others will allow you to believe them ignorant of your words.”

This was slightly overwhelming; new languages, talking portraits of family members long dead, Al didn’t know how much more he could handle for the day. He felt a bit of exhaustion come upon him and paid little to Harry and Leander’s conversation.

“Yes, well, Henry, nephew mine,” Leander said. Harry had a suspicious look on his face, and Al stared at the portrait in surprise considering his earlier greeting. “Your grandmother is waiting for you in the library. Best not keep her waiting, lest you find yourself glued to your chair courtesy of the elves,” he smirked.

Harry swore and leapt to his feet. “Oh hell, Nain will murder me,” he groaned. “Listen Al, I’ll see you later, yeah? When I’m not at risk of being punished.”

Without waiting for a response, Al watched as Harry bolted out of the room, the pitter-patter of his footsteps loud as he ran off. Leander was chortling to himself, and when Al glanced back at him, the portrait merely shrugged.

“He’s a good lad, Henry. Far too cheeky for his own good, even Charlus wasn't that obnoxious. Forgets to pay attention during his lessons in his excitement to meet you. He hasn’t _quite_ forgiven Edward for not allowing him to accompany them.”

_His twin had been excited to meet him_, he thought. That was good. Ever since he had heard of Harry, Al had been afraid the other boy would be upset at Alexander suddenly upending his life. He expected the boy to be jealous of his presence in their lives, and at the amount of time Ed spent with him, but he was relieved to know that his fears had been for naught.

“Rest, child,” Leander said, a shrewd look in his eyes. “You look tired, and it’s always best to sleep as much as you can with the potions in your system.”

Al couldn’t muster up the energy to argue with him. Placing his book on the small table, he walked to his bedroom and clambered onto the large bed.

His last thoughts were on his two brothers, warmth suffusing him, as he thought on the warm welcome he received. He was safe. He had found someplace he could call _home_.

As Alexander closed his eyes, he was unaware of the wards surrounding the Dursley home falling. He would not know for some time that the man who had placed him in Privet Drive would be alerted to his absence and launch a quiet search for the Boy-Who-Lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will skim through their childhood pre-Hogwarts.


	5. Edward II

Shuffling papers on the desk, Edward tuned out the chatter of the portraits hung on the wall behind him. There were only three frames, each large and hung on a separate section of the partitioned wall, but each of the previous Lords and Ladies Potter had seen fit to introduce themselves to him and offer his assistance.

It was all slightly overwhelming; Ed had his own study in the heir’s suite, but the Lord’s study was where the bulk of the work would be done. As he was now Head of House Potter – and the Lord Peverell to boot – he would sit here for hours each day amongst the stacks of folders and the books listing all the work of his predecessors as they rotated to introduce him to his duties.

Uncle Charlus and Aunt Dorea were his most frequent tutors over the past year; Taid had been the son of a second son, and while he had assisted his cousin in the running of the estate – knowing as all Potter/Peverell children did – that had been in the mid-1910s.

He spent most of his days in the study learning from the portratis; great-grandmother Adele went through language lessons with him, great-grandfather Henry taught him his maths; Taid’s cousin Cassius taught him bits and pieces of world history as it shaped their world.

Uncle Charlus and Aunt Dorea worked together to whip Edward into shape as the future Lord, cramming in lessons on politics, magic, the stance of House Potter in all matters as well as on decorum as expected of a pureblood heir in the three years before he was off to Hogwarts.

When Edward had pointed out his blood status, Aunt Dorea had waved him off. “Half-blood you may be, but they will judge you by the standards of a pureblood. Far more strictly too, as you are underage and the paterfamilias to an old pureblood line.”

Uncle Charlus had agreed with her, claiming that the entire point of the war had been that a number of people were judged for their blood.

There would be a proper tutor, he had been told; someone to ensure that Edward and his brothers did not learn terrible habits and to teach him how to dance. _All things a good little heir should know_, he thought sarcastically.

Of course, Edward’s family history lessons were taught by the portraits themselves, each including bits of their lives during a certain period and drilling them on the family tree. There was a tapestry down below, near the old ward stone, but each relative seemed to want him to personally know who they were.

The thing people often neglected to mention when it came to family portraits was the sheer headache of having a large variety of them. There were well over two thousand portraits, all hailing from the time of Alexandros Peverell, though only the portraits created around 245 AD spoke – and even then it was only in a most archaic form.

Dead people weren’t meant to hold grudges, but Edward had rather quickly learned that the Peverell portraits nursed ancient slights as a mother nursed her child – fervently and like clockwork.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Taid asked.

Giving him a faint smile, Ed was startled to realize that the portraits had all gone elsewhere.

Seeing his inquisitive look Taid grinned, “I think the boys have been giving the elves a bit of a hard time.”

Groaning, Edward slumped in his seat. Alexander had spent months before they had found him learning how to cook and had been tentative with them for some time. Harry had thought it a brilliant idea to help their younger brother realize that he was not expected to do what he had done for the Dursleys, and so the two took to _assisting_ the elves at odd times in the kitchen.

“Lear might have a revolt on his hands,” Edward huffed.

Taid simply laughed. “They’re young and insistent on knowing the basics of cooking,” he shrugged. “The elves enjoy having them around, considering they are always willing to eat what is laid out before them.”

He shook his head, knowing the dangers of two overactive young boys. Edward was nine, and having two six-year-olds scurrying through a house this size was far more of a headache than having chased after Harry for years. Even if Alexander was the more shy of the two, the boys got along like a house on fire and Harry found to his delight that he was particularly talented at getting Al to laugh.

It warmed his heart to see them get along, and he knew the portraits had feared some resentment on the part of either boy. Edward was no longer simply Harry’s brother – had never been in truth despite being alone together for years – and Al was adjusting to having his world changed overnight.

“I suppose I should go make sure they haven’t burnt the house down,” Ed sighed.

“Sit, Edward,” Taid said. He sounded stern, none of the light warmth that he had always associated with his grandfather. His eyes were soft yet serious, a concerned frown on his face. It was odd to see, mostly because he had always seen his grandfather laughing with the other portraits or raging at Ralston when he irritated him.

“Taid, what—” Edward began.

“It must be difficult,” Fleamont said quietly, “being in your position. I cannot claim to understand exactly what you are going through, but you need not carry such a burden yourself.”

Ed sucked in a sharp breath, chest tight at what his grandfather was alluding to.

“In another world, you would have learned all of this in due time, at your own pace and without the burden of the lordship. Aurelius would have been the heir, and you his younger cousin there to support him.”

“I-I-I,” he stuttered. He was quiet for a moment, eyes closed as he thought on all that he had been through, all that he was expected to do. “I don’t want to fail,” he whispered.

He opened his eyes to see his grandfather with a soft smile. “Uncle Edmund was like that,” Taid remarked.

Edward blinked at the turn of the conversation. “Orhendad’s brother?”

“Hmm. My grandfather had been in a duel when his sons were young, and a foul curse left him bedridden most days. Uncle Edmund was fourteen when taid was too ill to take on the duties of the paterfamilias.”

He stared in surprise at his grandfather, never having heard this before. “What did he do?”

“What did _they_ do,” Taid corrected, “they were brothers and one mans burden was both of theirs.” He looked at Edward, face tinged in a mix of grief and pride and something else. “I know that Alexander and Henry are young, only six this year, but you will have to rely on the two of them; Henry especially, considering that he is your heir until you have children of your own.”

“They’re six Taid,” Edward stressed. “I can’t burden them with all of this!”

“And risk crumbling under the weight of this legacy?” He questioned. “Edward, wyr, _listen to me_. You are not invincible, and your brothers will not be children forever. No, no, _listen_!” Taid raised a hand to stop his protests.

“It is unfair to expect that the three of you should shoulder this burden on your own. We are but mere portraits, and we cannot provide the kind of support that you would need. You will be faced with challenges as Uncle Edmund was. You are the head of a dying family as Charlus was, though far younger than any of them. You are the one to lead us, yes, but you cannot do it alone. Nor do I believe your brothers would allow you to.”

Edward closed his eyes in pain; he spoke the truth, uncomfortable as it was for him to acknowledge.

It had pressed on him for the past year and a half, ever since Rhys had found them – before that even, when Uncle Charlus spent his time training a young boy over his own father.

Neither of his brothers would allow him to quietly take on this responsibility without helping him. He did not know Alexander as he wished. Al, who had been a bubbly child, toddling after him, was now a nervous young boy, eager to please. And Harry was always so headstrong, so willing to do what he could to alleviate his worries. They would fight him should he attempt to do this on his own.

Staring blankly outside, Edward thought on the legacy left to him. There were only three of them now, only Alexander, Henry, and he left of their once large family. They would have to safeguard their family, protect each other lest it all end with them.

_Two millennia this house has stood strong_, he thought, _over two millennia of our family, and I’ll be damned if I let it all end with me_.

“I’ll work with them,” Edward stated quietly.

“Good,” Taid softly replied. “There are many who would wish to control you, who would manipulate three young children with as much power as you all have. Protect each other; learn to lean on one another as difficulties arise. You will be Lord Potter and will have the responsibilities of the Peverell as well, but this is their family too. Keep them close, keep them informed, and always strive to do what is best for the family _together_.”

Taid left him to his thoughts, brooding as he remembered the promises he had made and what he had left to accomplish.

_There are far too many people interested in our family_, he thought. Rhys had told him as much, informing him that Alexander’s absence from Privet Drive had been noted. He would have to do what he could to keep them safe from those vultures.

* * *

He heard them before he saw them; they were in the pools, lessons finished for the day, and the elves were keeping an eye on them. Fynn had been shadowing the two whenever they left their lessons, occupying them with different activities, and Ed was sure they were almost done their leisure time.

“Oi, Harry!” Al shouted, laughter ringing out.

He turned the corner just in time to see Harry get a face full of water, a smug look on Al’s face. It was a split second before Harry dived at Al, tackling the smaller boy into the water.

“Having fun?” Edward asked.

“Ed!” Harry shouted.

“It’s not time to leave is it?” Al asked, black hair shaggy with water.

“You’ve been swimming for some time,” Edward said amused. “You might want to clean up before your skin wrinkles. Dinner is almost ready,” he told them.

They grumbled for a bit as they left the pool, Edward keeping as far away from the ledge as he could. He had made the mistake once of standing too close and they had splashed him until he was soaked.

It took one sharp look from Fynn before the two boys hurriedly cleaned themselves for dinner, done in record time as they met him in the small family dining room. A misnomer, the small dining room had enough chairs to seat fifteen.

He let their chatter wash over him; he had worried needlessly over whether they would get along, but Alexander had been starved for affection and Harry had shown himself to be an observant child.

_“Harry,” Ed said, scooping the younger child onto his back. They were walking a small path along the gardens. Alexander was resting, the potions making him more exhausted, and Edward had felt guilty over the little time he had spared the middle Potter son._

_“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you,” Ed said quietly._

_Harry remained silent for some, and Edward feared his little brother was upset with him._

_A huff escaped Harry, warm breath on his ear as he heard a muttered, “don’t be so thick, Ed.”_

_Amused, he put the boy down, turning to stare at him. “And how am I being thick,” he muttered sarcastically._

_Harry rolled his eyes – the cheek of him, bloody sod – and tapped his foot impatiently, face scrunched into an expression similar to Aunt Dorea when she thought someone was being deliberately obtuse._

_“Edward,” Harry said, voice dripping in sarcastic patience – and really he was only five – “Al doesn’t know us. Of course he needs you, don’t be so silly.”_

At times it surprised him how mature his brother seemed, him all of six years with an air of knowing. Cheeky bugger.

“ED!” Al called, a sheepish look on the boy’s face as Edward jerked in surprise.

“Sorry, were you calling me?”

Al still had a sheepish look on his face, not quite used to asserting himself while Harry merely rolled his eyes. “You haven’t told us what we’re doing this week.”

“Oh, yeah sorry,” Ed grinned. “We’ll be visiting the Longbottoms.”

A snort escaped Harry’s mouth, and Edward saw Al give him a sharp poke to the side.

“S’not nice Harry,” Al whispered.

Harry sobered immediately, and Ed watched fondly as he apologized.

“Who are they?” Al asked.

“I need to speak with Lady Augusta,” Ed told them. “Her grandson is your age, Neville. You used to play together as babies.”

Ed had been horrified to learn of the fate of the older Longbottoms. Frank and Alice had been Harry and Al’s godparents, their father giving in to cousin Charlus’s demand that he honours the centuries old alliance that had been bound in blood. Eliana of Stinchcombe had been named for the Longbottom aunt that had died in her mother’s place, and House Potter had kept close ties to the Longbottoms ever since.

Uncle Charlus had been devastated to learn what had become of his godson, Aunt Dorea even more so when she learned it had been at the hands of her great-niece.

Edward was determined to restore his family to a position of power; to give his brothers the safety to do as they wished, and the Longbottom alliance would be the first part of that.

“We’ll be visiting them in a few days, but before that,” Ed told them softly, voice wavering in hesitation.

_They need to know_, he told himself. _You can’t let them go into this without knowing._

Blowing out a breath, Edward stated, “I think it’s time I told you what happened that night.”

They were both silent, the sound of their clattering forks stopping as they stared at him.

“Ed,” Harry said oddly.

“You don’t have to tell us,” Al blurted out.

Flushing, the younger boy fidgeted in his chair. “It’s just, it makes you sad.”

“He’s right,” Harry told him, looking torn before a determined look crossed his face. “Don’t do it.”

“I’m fine,” Ed countered, ignoring their twin looks of disbelief. “And it’s something you need to know. Both of you.”

The twins shared an uncertain look before nodding in agreement.

“Finish your food,” he told them quietly. “I’ll be in my rooms.”

He didn’t wait for them to agree, pulling his chair back and making his way quickly through the labyrinth of halls that made up Llew’s Falls until he reached the corridor that led to their rooms.

For once, entering his rooms didn’t soothe him, the sight of his family's colours only adding to his anxiousness. Edward paced nervously, hand tugging at his hair.

“Wyr, calm yourself,” Taid told him. Edward did not know when the old man had found his way to his room, but he was sincerely second guessing it all.

“You don’t know the story Taid,” Edward told him, breath coming in sharp gasps.

_Calm down_, he told himself sternly. He was nine and a half, had been taking care of his brother for years practically on his own. He could do this.

“You don’t have to tell them immediately,” Taid said softly.

“They have to know,” Ed said almost desperately. “Al can’t go anywhere without knowing why people would stare at him. And Harry! He’s already realized that people act oddly when they hear the name Potter. He needs to know as well. Deserves to know why people will be fawning over his twin.”

Edward threw himself heavily on his couch, staring listlessly at his grandfather’s portrait. They were already so close, Harry and Al, as thick as thieves in spite of the short time they had known each other. He refused to allow this to affect them more than it possibly could.

Taid only sighed, a slight smile on his face as Nain joined him in the portrait just as the boys walked into the room.

“I’m not gonna eat you,” he told them, seeing the leery look on their faces.

They shared a look before ploughing forward, a twin seated on either side of him, and Edward started speaking before he lost his nerve.

“I’ve already told you mum and dad were killed,” he said, waiting until they nodded in acknowledgement.

“It wasn’t an accident or a mistake. There was a war,” he said quietly, vision flashing with green light. “Years old at that point, and so many people had died. Cousin Eurwyn and Cousin Rosalind, Maia and Aurelius, Uncle Charlus; so many Potters had died in that war.

“It was Samhain when the Dark Lord came. We were in the nursery when I heard Dad shouting at Mum to run, and she came and locked the door.”

Vaguely, he noticed that there were tears running down his face and felt his brother’s lean on him.

“Voldemort, he found us in the room. He told Mum he didn’t want to hurt her, but she didn’t move. And he killed her,” Ed whispered, throat tight with emotions. His mother had lain on the ground, hair fanned as if she were just sleeping but for her lifeless eyes. If he closed his eyes he could picture that moment, as he laid there crying over Lily Potter’s body with Harry in hand and Al in the crib.

“That’s the green light,” Al whispered. Edward heard a sharp intake of breath from the portrait as he nodded.

“The killing curse,” he murmured.

“Why aren’t we dead?” Harry breathed.

“Something went wrong,” Edward told them, arms coming around to squeeze the two of them closer. “After he…_after_, he turned his wand on Al and tried to kill him, but something went wrong and he died instead.”

“Al’s scar,” Harry whispered, shifting to look at him, green eyes dim. “The lady with Master Tatting, she kept looking at my forehead.”

“They know about that?” Al asked, trembling.

“They know,” he muttered. “That’s why you had to know. Everyone in the wizarding world knows that Voldemort died and Al survived a curse with only a scar on his head.

People will stare at you Al. They’ll think they know you and expect things but you don’t have to do anything,” Ed pressed, hand brushing an errant lock of hair from the youngest Potter’s forehead.

Alexander looked fragile in that moment, though there was a glint of steel in his eyes that Edward was glad to see from the still-skittish child.

“Is that why I was left with the Dursleys?” he asked, a vulnerable look to him.

Sighing, Edward pressed a kiss to his head. “No one will take you back Al. We won’t let them come between us.”

“I’ll kick them myself,” Harry swore, and Ed felt a smile tug at his lips as Harry reached across to tightly grip Alexander’s hand as if someone would snatch him away.

They sat like that for a while, and at some point the three sons of James and Lily Potter fell asleep tangled together beneath the watching eyes of their grandparents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was pretty tough to write, which is also why it's shorter than the others. The full story of what happened that night, and why Edward is so certain about Al beyond the scar will be explained in year 3.


End file.
